And Ah Fu sleeps behind
the office."
"Were you not afraid when you suspected that Cohen was a burglar?
You told me yourself that you did suspect him."
"Yes, I spoke to my father about it."
"And what did he say?"
"Oh"--she shrugged her shoulders--"he just smiled and told me not
to worry."
"And that was the last you heard about the matter?"
"Yes, until you told me he was dead."
Again he questioned the dark eyes and again was baffled. He felt
tempted, and not for the first time, to throw up the case. After
all, it rested upon very slender data--the mysterious death of a
Chinaman whose history was unknown and the story of a crook whose
word was worth nothing.
Finally he asked himself, as he had asked himself before, what
did it matter? If old Huang Chow had disposed of these people in
some strange manner, they had sought to rob him. The morality of
the case was complicated and obscure, and more and more he was
falling under the spell of Lala's dark eyes.
But always it was his professional pride which came to the
rescue. Murder had been done, whether justifiably or otherwise,
and to him had been entrusted the discovery of the murderer. It
seemed that failure was to be his lot, for if Lala knew anything
she was a most consummate actress, and if she did not, his last
hope of information was gone.
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