“Something of the sort,” said Slattin, standing up and again preparing to depart.
“You will ‘phone us, then?” asked my friend.
“You will hear from me to-morrow,” was the reply.
Smith returned to the cane armchair, and Slattin, bowing to both of us, made his way to the door as I rang for the girl to show him out.
“Considering the importance of his proposal,” I began, as the door closed, “you hardly received our visitor with cordiality.”
“I hate to have any relations with him,” answered my friend; “but we must not be squeamish respecting our instruments in dealing with Dr. Fu-Manchu. Slattin has a rotten reputation—even for a private inquiry agent. He is little better than a blackmailer—”
“How do you know?”
“Because I called on our friend Weymouth at the Yard yesterday and looked up the man’s record.”
“Whatever for?”
“I knew that he was concerning himself, for some reason, in the case. Beyond doubt he has established some sort of communication with the Chinese group; I am only wondering—”