"Don't know anything of their associates—friends—acquaintances?" suggested Ayscough. "I suppose they had some—amongst your students?"
"I never saw them in company with anybody—particularly—except a young Japanese who was in some of their classes," replied the house-surgeon. "I have seen them talking with him—in Gower Street."
"What's his name?" asked Ayscough, pulling out a note-book.
"Mr. Mori Yada," answered the house-surgeon promptly. "He lives in Gower Street—I don't know the precise number of the house. Yes, that's the way to spell his name. He's the only man I know who seemed to know these two."
"Have you seen him lately?" asked Ayscough.
"Oh, yes—regularly—today, in fact," said the house-surgeon.
He waited a moment in evident expectation of other questions; as the detective asked none—"I gather," he remarked, "that Chang Li has disappeared?"
"The house these two occupied is empty," replied Ayscough.
"I am going to suggest something," said the house-surgeon. "I know—from personal observation—that there is a tea-shop in Tottenham Court Road—a sort of quiet, privately-owned place—Pilmansay's—which these two used to frequent. I don't know if that's of any use to you?"
"Any detail is of use, Sir," answered Ayscough, making another note. "Now, I'll tell this taxi-man to drive you back to the hospital. I shall call there tomorrow
