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 “Doctor Parker, I believe, was lost in the fog at half past seven, on his way to the house,” he said. “That leaves nobody but this stony-faced Chink. I’d as soon go out in the Sahara Desert and have a chat with the Sphinx as question one of ’em. Come here, you!”

Hung Chin-chung stiffened, and a dignity that was ever part of him shone from his strange eyes as he crossed the room and stood before the detective.

“What’s your name?” roared Barnes. He was one of those Americans who believe all foreigners are deaf.

Hung stared at him in amiable contempt. Mark Drew spoke up.

“If I may make a suggestion,” he said, “Hung was almost one of the family. He was my father’s body-servant, for twenty years his best friend, and in these later years, I am afraid, his only friend. Hung’s personal name, Chin-chung, means completely loyal, and he was all of that. He has never been known to re- Rh