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“Twenty years,” said Mark Drew.
“That explains it,” Barnes replied. “Twenty years! If we could keep a servant twenty years we wouldn’t stop at a birthday party. We’d give him a deed to our house and lot. Well—Mr. Drew gives the Chinaman a party; an eccentric thing to do, but then, he always was—er—different. And what of it? We can’t argue that Hung picked this occasion to kill his master. Unless he was dissatisfied with the thickness of the frosting on the cake—or peeved because Mr. Drew made a mistake about his age.” The hour was late, and Sergeant Barnes seemed a bit peeved himself. He turned again to me. “No,” he said firmly, “it all comes back to this young man. He had a grievance not only against Henry Drew but against the other murdered man, Doctor Su Yen Hun. His knife has been found. He was caught running away in the fog—”
Mary Will was on her feet facing the
