Kerry, carrying his hat and cane,
mounted the stairs, walked along the carpeted passage, and was
ushered into a queer, low room furnished as a library.
It was lined with shelves containing strange-looking books, none
of which appeared to be English. Upon the top of the shelves
were grotesque figures of gods, pieces of Chinese pottery and
other Oriental ornaments. Arms there were in the room, and rich
carpets, carven furniture, and an air of luxury peculiarly
exotic. Furthermore, he detected a faint smell of opium from
which fact he divined that Zani Chada was addicted to the
national vice of China.
Seated before a long narrow table was the notorious Eurasian.
The table contained a number of strange and unfamiliar objects,
as well as a small rack of books. An opium pipe rested in a
porcelain bowl.
Zani Chada, wearing a blue robe, sat in a cushioned chair,
staring toward the Chief Inspector. With one slender yellow hand
he brushed his untidy gray hair. His long magnetic eyes were
half closed.
"Good evening, Chief Inspector Kerry," he said. "Won't you be
seated?"
"Thanks, I'm not staying. I can hear what you've got to say
standing."
The long eyes grew a little more narrow--the only change of
expression that Zani Chada allowed himself.
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