He was staring at the print, absorbed as never had he been in his life before, when a heavy hand on his shoulder aroused him. He turned to meet the fat and smiling face of Pillivant.
“I’ve fixed it all up—doctor, police, ambulance. I’ll take some in the Rolls-Royce, the doctor the others in his car. We’ll have the Chink back in no time.”
“The what?” asked Baltazar, with a swift glance.
“The Chink—the Chinaman——”
“Oh, yes. My friend, Mr. Quong Ho. If you don’t mind, I’ll come with you.”
“My dear fellow, that’s impossible. You must go to bed. It’s no trouble. There are fifteen bedrooms in the house. You can take your choice. Hasn’t Mrs. Pillivant been in to see you?”
“She did me that honour.”
“Then why the dickens didn’t she have you attended to? I’ll see about it.”
He was already at the door when Baltazar checked him.
“Stop. Don’t worry about me. Tell me one thing.” He smote the open newspaper with the palm of his hand. “How long has this been going on?”