“I was eager to meet you, Sergeant,” he said, “for many reasons. Tell me, are you familiar with San Francisco’s Chinatown?”

“I have slight acquaintance with same,” Chan admitted. “My cousin, Chan Kee Lim, is an honored resident of Waverly Place.”

“Have you, by any chance, heard of a Chinese down there - a stranger, a tourist - named Li Gung?”

“No doubt there are many so named. I do not know the one you bring up.”

“This man is a guest of relatives on Jackson Street. You could do me a great service, Sergeant.”

“It would remain,” said Chan, “a golden item on the scroll of memory.”

“Li Gung has certain information and I want it. I have tried to interview him myself, but naturally with no success.”

“Light begins to dawn.”

“If you could strike up an acquaintance with him - get into his confidence -“

“Humbly asking pardon, I do not spy on my own race with no good reason.”

“The reasons in this case are excellent.”

“Only a fool could doubt it. But what you hint would demand a considerable interval of time. My humble affairs have rightly no interest for you, so you have properly overlooked my situation. Tomorrow at noon I hasten to my home.”

“You could stay over a week. I would make it greatly worth your while.”

A stubborn look came into the little eyes. “One path only is worth my while now. The path to my home on Punchbowl Hill.”

“I mean I would pay -“

“Again asking pardon - I have food, I have clothes which cover even the vast area I possess. Beyond that, what is money?”

“Very good. It was only a suggestion.”

“I am desolated by acute pain,” replied Chan. “But I must refuse.”

Barry Kirk joined them. “Mr. Chan, I’m going to ask you to do something for me,” he began.

Chan sought to keep concern from his face, and succeeded. But what next, he wondered. “I am eagerly at attention,” he said. “You are my host.”

“I’ve just invited Miss Morrow to dinner tonight and I need another man. Will you come?”

“Your requests are high honors, which only an ungrate would refuse. But I am now already in your debt. More is going to embarrass me.”

“Never mind that. I’ll expect you at seven thirty - my bungalow on the Kirk Building.”

“Splendid,” said Sir Frederic. “We’ll have another talk then, Sergeant. My requests are not precisely honors, but I may yet persuade you.”

“The Chinese are funny people,” remarked Chan. “They say no, no is what they mean. They say yes, and they are glued to same. With regard to dinner, I say yes, greatly pleased.”

“Good,” said Barry Kirk.

“Where’s that reporter?” Sir Frederic asked.

“He hurried away,” Kirk explained. “Anxious to get to his story, I imagine.”

“What story?” asked the Englishman blankly.

“Why - the story of our luncheon.