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“You are a considerate man, Inspector,” the fortune-teller answered.

The old Chinese shuffled into the room; he was, evidently, in a rather peevish frame of mind. His carefully prepared dinner had been ruined by the events of this tragic evening, and he was in no mood to accept the philosophy of the patient K’ung-fu-tsze.

Chan talked with him for a moment, again in Cantonese, and then turned to Tarneverro. “I request that he verify story he told me in native language when I interrogated him in this room some while ago,” he explained. “Wu, you have said you lingered in kitchen with Jessop and Anna when clock was speaking the hour of eight. You fretted because dinner was seemingly movable feast, and also because bootlegger of your choice had not shown up and was causing you to lose much face. Am I correct so far?”

“Bootleggah velly late,” nodded Wu.

“But at ten minutes past hour, erring friend of yours makes panting appearance with hotly desired liquids. While Jessop begins task of making this poison palatable, you wander away in search of mistress.” Chan glanced at the fortune-teller. “Wu informal type servant who pops up anywhere on place with great bland look. Characteristic of the race.” He resumed his remarks to the Chinese. “You discover Miss Shelah Fane alone in pavilion. Vindicating your honor, you announce bootlegger friend has finally appeared. What did Missie say?”

“Missie look-see watch, say twelve minutes aftah eight plitty muchee time bootleggah come. I say plitty muchee time dinnah gets on table. Mebbe that can happen now if not new cook needed heah wikiwiki.”