"Well, Sir?" cried the other, eagerly. Ann Veronica felt suddenly an effect of tremendous pathos; she would have given anything to have been able to frame and make some appeal, some utterance that should bridge this bottomless chasm that had opened between her and her father, and she could find nothing whatever to say that was in the least sincere and appealing. She was conscious of a ceaseless undercurrent of sound—the guttural Chinese tongue. Together they crept through the erstwhile drawing room and entered the massive flagged hall. Men had tried to kiss her— unshaven derelicts, some of them terrible—but she had always managed to escape. Her head ached with a hollow pain. The Yale spirit! Ah Cum smiled whimsically. O'Higgins was all that the doctor had imagined a detective to be: a bulky policeman in civilian clothes.
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