When finally we quitted the house of the missing Kwen Lung, and when, Harley having curtly acknowledged “good night” from the detective on duty, we came out into Limehouse Causeway.

“You have not overlooked the possibility, Harley,” I said, “that this woman’s explanation may be true, and that the fireman of the Seahawk may have been entertaining us with an account of a weird dream?”

“No!” snapped Harley—­“neither will Scotland Yard overlook it.”

He was in a particularly impossible mood, for he so rarely made mistakes that to be detected in one invariably brought out those petulant traits of character which may have been due in some measure to long residence in the East.  Recognizing that he would rather be alone I parted from him at the corner of Chancery Lane and returned to my own chambers.  Furthermore, I was very tired, for it was close upon two o’clock, and on turning in I very promptly went to sleep, nor did I awaken until late in the morning.

For some odd reason, but possibly because the fact had occurred to me just as I was retiring, I remembered at the moment of waking that I had not told Harley about the romantic wedding of Captain Dan.  As I had left my friend in very ill humour I thought that this would be a good excuse for an early call, and just before eleven o’clock I walked into his office.  Innes, his invaluable secretary, showed me into the study at the back.

“Hallo, Knox,” said Harley, looking up from a little silver Buddha which he was examining, “have you come to ask for news of the Kwen Lung case?”

“No,” I replied.  “Is there any?”

Harley shook his head.

“It seems like fate,” he declared, “that this thing should have been sent to me this morning.”  He indicated the silver Buddha.  “A present from a friend who knows my weakness for Chinese ornaments,” he explained grimly.  “It reminds me of that damned joss of Kwen Lung’s!”

I took up the little image and examined it with interest.  It was most beautifully fashioned in the patient Oriental way, and there was a little hinged door in the back which fitted so perfectly that when closed it was quite impossible to detect its presence.  I glanced at Harley.

“I suppose you didn’t find a jewel inside?” I said lightly.

“No,” he replied; “there was nothing inside.”

But even as he uttered the words his whole expression changed, and so suddenly as to startle me.  He sprang up from the table, and: 

“Have you an hour to spare, Knox?” he cried excitedly.

“I can spare an hour, but what for?”

“For Kwen Lung!”

Four minutes later we were speeding in the direction of Limehouse, and not a word of explanation to account for this sudden journey could I extract from my friend.  Therefore I beguiled the time by telling him of my adventure with Captain Dan.

Harley listened to the story in unbroken silence, but at its termination he brought his hand down sharply on my knee.