“Oh! pardon, pardon,” Wu protested pleasantly. “You over-reached yourself. May we be seated?” he asked Florence Gregory; and as she sat down he drew himself a chair conveniently towards her, and convenient for an unimpeded view of Gregory. “I called here to-day,” he continued suavely, “at your husband’s invitation, on a matter of grave importance.”
The woman leaned forward towards him quickly, her hands knotted at her knee. “Yes—yes—my son,” she began eagerly.
“What the matter was,” Wu went on smoothly, “he did not say. Of course, I knew of your son’s disappearance—everybody in Hong Kong knows that—so I fancied that your husband wished, perhaps, to ask me that any influence I might possess among my countrymen should be exerted to assist you in your search——”
“Yes—yes,” she said, “if you could!”
“Could!” Gregory muttered, “he knows all about it.”
“To assist you in your search,” Wu repeated blandly. “His reception of me, however, was strangely unlike that of a man—asking a favor.”
“Favor!” Gregory flamed out—he couldn’t help it—“I was going to ask no favor, I can tell you.”
His wife sent him a peremptory glance, but Wu paid him no attention, but continued:
“And in the end, Mrs. Gregory, he presented a revolver at me, and practically held me prisoner.”
“Yes,” Gregory snarled, “and by a cunning ruse, like a man of your crafty nature——”