to the house of Huang Chow in order to question him respecting
his knowledge of the dead man Cohen, and to learn when last he
had seen him.

Old Huang, who had received his caller in the large room
upstairs, the room which boasted the presence of the writing-
dais, had exhibited no trace of confusion, assuring the sergeant
that he had not seen the man Cohen for several days. Cohen had
come to him with an American introduction, which he, Huang,
believed to be forged, and had wanted him to undertake a shady
agency, respecting the details of which he remained peculiarly
reticent. In short, nothing had been gained by this official
interrogation, and Huang blandly denied any knowledge of an
attempted burglary of his establishment.

"What have I to lose?" he had asked the inquirer. "A lot of old
lumber which I have accumulated during many years, and a
reputation for being wealthy, due to my lonely habits and to the
ignorance of those who live around me."

Durham, mentally reviewing the words of the report, reconstructed
the scene in his mind; and now, having come to the end of the
lane where the iron post rested, he stood staring up at a place
in the ancient wall where several bricks had decayed, and where
it was possible, according to the statement of the man Poland, to
climb up on to a piece of sloping roof, and thence gain the
skylight through which Cohen had obtained admittance on the night
of his death.

He made sure that his automatic pistol was in his pocket,