"But not to speak rudely. I do not employ rudeness, nor do I accept it. And now may I ask how this hypothetical hostility of mine has been manifested?"
"In a number of ways," Gregory returned, a little sneeringly.
"Will you name one?" Wu was entirely bland again.
"You must be aware," the other told him, "that my firm has recently sustained a somewhat extraordinary series of setbacks."
"I regret to hear that you have been somewhat unfortunate"—Wu said it sympathetically.
"I am determined that these annoyances shall cease"—Robert Gregory said it doggedly.
"But even Mr. Gregory," the Chinese man said sadly, "can hardly hope to order the workings of Fate."
"But are they workings of Fate"—Gregory leaned across the table aggressively again, his bullet head thrust out—"or of Mr. Wu?"
For a moment Wu regarded him in silence. Then, "Surely you are joking?"
"I know pretty well as much about you as you know yourself"—Gregory's voice was as insolent as his words.
"Why should you not?" Wu replied cheerfully. "My life is an open book. All who run may read."
"But there's one thing I don't know!"
"Surely not?"
"Your object. Now you see I speak frankly—I lay my cards on the table. What is your motive? What do you want? Come, Mr. Wu, I'm willing to meet you on a friendly footing."
"You are very kind," Wu said subtly.
Gregory made an impatient gesture, and the framed picture fell between them. The Chinese picked it up—"Mrs. Gregory?" he said courteously.
