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The Chinaman shrugged his shoulders.
“You are searching the lake for the moon,” he said scornfully.
“Maybe we are,” answered Barnes. “And maybe we’ll find it too. Maybe the moon’s dropped down from heaven—by way of a rope fire-escape.” He went close to the impassive face of the Chinaman. “I’ve got you tagged, son, from the minute you left here to go to your room, just before dinner. Wanted to change your clothes, eh? To bring honor to your master, and your master’s house. Was that the reason? I don’t think so. Now listen to me—and correct me if I’m wrong: You went to your room. You put on these white man’s shoes in place of those velvet slippers. You took the knife you’d snitched from Mr. Winthrop’s luggage when you was in the stateroom packing Henry Drew’s bags. You let out the rope of the fire-escape and dropped down into the fog. It wasn’t two minutes to Doctor Su’s place, by the back way.
