“What was his name?” asked Nick casually.
“Upon my word, I forget. Something like Ning Po, though I don’t think that was it exactly.”
“Not Sang Tu?”
“No, indeed,” replied Bentham, with a slight smile, as he shook his head. “You don’t suppose I should receive the head of the Yellow Tong in my house without knowing who he was? This Professor Ning Po—or whatever his name was—did not look the kind of man to be connected with such an infamous organization. He was a very mild sort of man, blinking behind large spectacles, and a decidedly entertaining personage.”
“I should like to have seen him.”
“I think you would have found him worth while. He has made himself famous by his translations of ancient Chinese literature into English. I hope to see him again. I enjoyed his conversation very much.”
“Was Professor Ning Po, by any chance, alone in the room in which you have these records hidden, at any time, during that evening?” asked Nick, with one of those sudden changes of topic that he often indulged in when[Pg 17] working on a puzzling case. “I don’t ask which room that was.”
“It was the library,” replied Bentham. “I was about to tell you that. In fact, I should like to show you the secret place where I kept the package of papers, if you can spare time to come with me.”
“I shall spare the time, of course. I could not give you much help, I am afraid, unless I had your entire confidence. That means that I want to see the receptacle from which the thieves took the papers. You have not breakfasted, I think you said?”
“No, I was too anxious. I just hurried right out, to see you, without thinking about breakfast.”