..
"Well?"--Stringer spoke the word eagerly, his eyes upon the inspector's
face.
"And those who WERE accessory,"--continued Dunbar, "were servants of Mr.
King."
"Ah!" Stringer brought his fist down with a bang--"Mr. King! That's
where I am in the dark, and where Sowerby, here, is in the dark." He
bent forward over the table. "Who the devil is Mr. King?"
Dunbar twirled his whisky glass between his fingers.
"We don't know," he replied quietly, "but Soames does, in all
probability; and that's why we're looking for Soames."
"Is it why we're looking in Limehouse?" persisted Stringer, the
argumentative.
"It is," snapped Dunbar. "We have only got one Chinatown worthy of the
name, in London, and that's not ten minutes' walk from here."
"Chinatown--yes," said Sowerby, his red face glistening with excitement;
"but why look for Mr. King in Chinatown?"
"Because," replied Dunbar, lowering his voice, "Mr. King in all
probability is a Chinaman."
"Who says so?" demanded Stringer.
"Max says so..."
"MAX!"--again Stringer beat his fist upon the table. "Now we have got to
it! We're working, then, not on our own theories, but on those of Max?"
Dunbar's sallow face flushed slightly, and his eyes seemed to grow
brighter.
"Mr.
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