“I suppose we must be content with that,” said Kitwater lugubriously.

They thereupon thanked me and rose to go.

“By the way,” I said, “does this man Hayle know that you are in England?”

The blind man shook his head.

“He thinks we are lying dead in the jungle,” he said, “and it is not his fault that we are not.  Did he suspect for a moment that we were alive and in the same country as himself, he’d be out of it like a rat driven by a ferret from his hole.  But if you will give us your assistance, sir, we will make him aware of our presence before very long.”

Though he tried to speak unconcernedly, there was an expression upon the man’s face that startled me.  I felt that, blind though he was, I should not care to be in Mr. Hayle’s place when they should meet.

After they had left me I lit a cigar and began to think the matter over.  I had had a number of strange cases presented to me in my time, but never one that had opened in such a fashion as this.  A man robs his friends in the centre of China; the latter are tortured and maimed for life, and come to me in London to seek out their betrayer for them, in whatever part of the globe he might be.  The whole thing seemed so preposterous as to be scarcely worth consideration, and yet, try how I would to put it out of my mind, I found myself thinking of it continually.  The recollection of the blind man’s face and that of his dumb companion haunted me awake and asleep.  More than once I determined to have nothing to do with them, only later to change my mind, and vow that I would see the matter through at any cost to myself.

Next morning, however, saner counsels prevailed.  An exceedingly remunerative offer was made me by a prominent Trust Company, which, at any other time I should have had no hesitation in immediately accepting.  Fate, however, which is generally more responsible for these matters than most folk imagine, had still a card to play upon Messrs. Kitwater and Codd’s behalf, and it was destined to overthrow all my scruples, and what was more to ultimately revolutionize the conduct of my whole life.

CHAPTER III

Towards the middle of the morning I was sitting in my office, awaiting the coming of a prominent New York detective, with whom I had an appointment, when my clerk entered to inform me that a lady was in the outer office, and desired to see me if I could spare her a few minutes.

“Who is she?” I inquired.  “Find out that, and also her business.”

“Her name is Kitwater,” the man replied, when he returned after a moment’s absence, “but she declines to state her business to any one but yourself, sir.”

“Kitwater?” I said.  “Then she is a relation, I suppose, of the blind man who was here yesterday.  What on earth can she have to say to me?  Well, Lawson won’t be here for another ten minutes, so you may as well show her in.”  Then to myself I added—­“This is a development of the case which I did not expect.  I wonder who she is,—­wife, sister, daughter, or what, of the blind man?”