“You seem to be a connoisseur of antiques,” he said. “Your dagger is certainly a collector’s gem, and your revolver is equally out of date. I recommend an automatic the next time you contemplate doing murder.”
Walking up to her he looked curiously into her dark eyes, but he could detect no expression in them.
“Why did you come here?” he demanded.
No answer.
“Did you come to get an olive-wood box bound with silver?”
A slight colour tinted the ashy pallor under her eyes.
He turned abruptly and swept the furniture with his searchlight, and saw on a table her coat, gloves, wrist bag, and furled umbrella; and beside them what appeared to be her suitcase, open. It had a canvas and leather cover: he walked over to the table, turned back the cover of the suitcase and revealed a polished box 167 of olive wood, heavily banded by some metal resembling silver.
Inside the box were books, photographs, a bronze Chinese figure, which he recognised as the Yellow Devil, a pair of revolvers, a dagger very much like the one he had wrested from her. But there were no military plans there.
He turned to his prisoner:
“Is everything here?” he asked sharply.