The Daffodil Mystery | Page 9

then he turned
on his elbow and lifted the cup of tea which his servant had brought
him.
"What of Face-White-and-Weak Man, Ling?" he asked in the
vernacular. "You saw him?"
"I saw him, master," said the Chinaman gravely. "He is a man without a
heaven."
Again Tarling nodded. The Chinese use the word "heaven" instead of
"God," and he felt that Ling had very accurately sized up Mr. Thornton
Lyne's lack of spiritual qualities.
He finished the tea, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.
"Ling," he said, "this place is very dull and sad. I do not think I shall
live here."
"Will the master go back to Shanghai?" asked the other, without any
display of emotion.
"I think so," nodded Tarling. "At any rate, this place is too dull. Just
miserable little taking-money-easily cases, and wife-husband-lover
cases and my soul is sick."
"These are small matters," said Ling philosophically. "But The
Master"--this time he spoke of the great Master, Confucius--"has said
that all greatness comes from small things, and perhaps some
small-piece man will cut off the head of some big-piece man, and then
they will call you to find the murderer."
Tarling laughed.
"You're an optimist, Ling," he said. "No, I don't think they'll call me in
for a murder. They don't call in private detectives in this country."

Ling shook his head.
"But the master must find murderers, or he will no longer be Lieh Jen,
the Hunter of Men."
"You're a bloodthirsty soul, Ling," said Tarling, this time in English,
which Ling imperfectly understood, despite the sustained efforts of
eminent missionary schools. "Now I'll go out," he said with sudden
resolution. "I am going to call upon the small-piece woman whom
White-Face desires."
"May I come with you?" asked Ling.
Tarling hesitated.
"Yes, you may come," he said, "but you must trail me."
Carrymore Mansions is a great block of buildings sandwiched between
two more aristocratic and more expensive blocks of flats in the
Edgware Road. The ground floor is given up to lock-up shops which
perhaps cheapened the building, but still it was a sufficiently exclusive
habitation for the rents, as Tarling guessed, to be a little too high for a
shop assistant, unless she were living with her family. The explanation,
as he was to discover, lay in the fact that there were some very
undesirable basement flats which were let at a lower rental.
He found himself standing outside the polished mahogany door of one
of these, wondering exactly what excuse he was going to give to the
girl for making a call so late at night. And that she needed some
explanation was clear from the frank suspicion which showed in her
face when she opened the door to him.
"Yes, I am Miss Rider," she said.
"Can I see you for a few moments?"
"I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head, "but I am alone in the flat, so I
can't ask you to come in."

This was a bad beginning.
"Is it not possible for you to come out?" he asked anxiously, and in
spite of herself, she smiled.
"I'm afraid it's quite impossible for me to go out with somebody I have
never met before," she said, with just a trace of amusement in her eyes.
"I recognise the difficulty," laughed Tailing. "Here is one of my cards.
I'm afraid I am not very famous in this country, so you will not know
my name."
She took the card and read it.
"A private detective?" she said in a troubled voice. "Who has sent you?
Not Mr.----"
"Not Mr. Lyne," he said.
She hesitated a moment, then threw open the door wider.
"You must come in. We can talk here in the hall. Do I understand Mr.
Lyne has not sent you?"
"Mr. Lyne was very anxious that I should come," he said. "I am
betraying his confidence, but I do not think that he has any claim upon
my loyalty. I don't know why I've bothered you at all, except that I feel
that you ought to be put on your guard."
"Against what?" she asked.
"Against the machinations of a gentleman to whom you have been----"
he hesitated for a word.
"Very offensive," she finished for him.
"I don't know how offensive you've been," he laughed, "but I gather
you have annoyed Mr. Lyne for some reason or other, and that he is
determined to annoy you. I do not ask your confidence in this respect,

because I realise that you would hardly like to tell me. But what I want
to tell you is this, that Mr. Lyne is probably framing up a charge against
you--that is to say, inventing a charge of theft."
"Of theft?" she cried in indignant amazement. "Against me? Of