"How long have you been here?" demanded the questioner.
"How long— yes? Oh—I don't know. What do you want?" asked Chang Li. "I don't know you."
The tea-maker thrust his head inside the room.
"He can't tell you anything," he said, with a grin. "He has been—what you call on the break-out—with opium—ever so many days. He has—attacks that way. Takes a fit of it—just as some of your people take to the drink. He's coming out of it, now—and he'll be very, very unhappy tomorrow."
The Inspector twisted round on the informant.
"Look here!" he said. "Do you know how long he's been here—stupifying himself? Is it a day—or days?"
One of the chess-players lifted a stolid face.
"He has been here—like that—several days," he said. "It's useless trying to do anything with him when he takes the fit—the craving, you understand?—into his head. If you want any information out of him, you'd better call again in a few hours."
"Do you mean to tell me he's been here—like that—several days?" demanded the Inspector.
The young man with the tea-pot grinned again.
"He's never been at a class at the medical school since the 17th," he announced. "I know that—he's in some classes with me. He's been here—all the time since then."
The Inspector turned sharply on Ayscough.
"The 17th!" he exclaimed. "And that affair was on the 18th! Then—"
