"It would be cruel of me to ask you to come to Kowloon to drink tea with Sing Kung Yah. And yet I do ask it—but for your own sake too. Yes, if you will be so kind—it will delight Sing—you shall be my guest."
"We have been already, Mr. Wu," she said a little sadly. "You remember it was in your house, or rather in your gardens, that I last saw my son. It was there he left us—and disappeared as completely as though the earth had swallowed him up."
"And it is from that point that we will begin our investigations—you and I—his mother and a Chinese who is honored to serve her. We will take the thread up from that moment—when you last saw him—from that place—my own house."
"But you know that he was seen afterwards here—in Hong Kong?"
"I know that it was said so," Wu replied judicially. "It may, or it may not, be true, and we will begin at the beginning—and end by discovering the truth. That at least I can promise you."
"Oh! You do?" she almost sobbed.
"I am sure of it."
"Then when may we come? If we must."
"Must," the man deprecated. "My dear Mrs. Gregory, I employ no such word where you are concerned. I merely point out to you, and I hope as delicately as possible, that—aside from the very real kindness your visit would be to a Chinese woman somewhat pathetically placed—that the—the circumstances of my visit here this afternoon hardly make this a—a propitious place—indeed, I am sure you will understand I am only too anxious to find myself outside this room—and to forget—as far as such things can be forgotten"
