"
Harley produced a piece of thick silk twine.
"What is it?"
"It is a link, Knox--a link to seek which I really went down to
Deepbrow." He stared at me quizzically, but my answering look
must have been a blank one. "It is part of the tassel of one of
those red cloth caps commonly called in England, a fez!"
He continued to stare at me and I to stare at the piece of silk;
then:
"What is the next move?" I demanded. "Your new clue rather
bewilders me."
"The next move," he said, "is to retire to the adjoining room and
make ourselves look as much like a couple of Oriental commercial
travellers as our correctly British appearance will allow!"
"What!" I cried.
"That's it!" laughed Harley. "I have a perpetual tan, and I
think I can give you a temporary one which I keep in a bottle for
the purpose."
Twenty minutes later, then, having quitted Harley's chambers by a
back way opening into one of those old-world courts which abound
in this part of the metropolis, two quietly attired Eastern
gentlemen got into a cab at the corner of Chancery Lane and
proceeded in the direction of Limehouse.
There are haunts in many parts of London whose very existence is
unsuspected by all but the few; haunts unvisited by the tourist
and even unknown to the copy-hunting pressman.
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