I had spoken to Harley of this fear. He had smiled and nodded grimly, saying:
"Evidently, Knox, you have forgotten that to-night is the night of the full moon."
It was in no easy state of mind, then, that I opened the gate and walked up to the porch of the Guest House. That the solution of the grand mystery of Cray's Folly would automatically resolve these lesser mysteries I felt assured, and I was supported by the idea that a clue might lie here.
The house, which from the roadway had an air of neglect, proved on close inspection to be well tended, but of an unprosperous aspect. The brass knocker, door knob, and letter box were brilliantly polished, whilst the windows and the window curtains were spotlessly clean. But the place cried aloud for the service of the decorator, and it did not need the deductive powers of a Paul Harley to determine that Mr. Colin Camber was in straitened circumstances.
In response to my ringing the door was presently opened by Ah Tsong. His yellow face exhibited no trace of emotion whatever. He merely opened the door and stood there looking at me.
He proceeded quietly to close the door again.
"One moment," I said, "one moment. I wish, at any rate, to leave my card."
Ah Tsong allowed the door to remain open, but:
"No usee palaber so fashion," he said. "No feller comee here. Sabby?"
"I savvy, right enough," said I, "but all the same you have got to take my card in to Mr. Camber."
I handed him a card as I spoke, and suddenly addressing him in "pidgin," of which, fortunately, I had a smattering:
"Belong very quick, Ah Tsong," I said, sharply, "or plenty big trouble, savvy?"
"Sabby, sabby," he muttered, nodding his head; and leaving me standing in the porch he retired along the sparsely carpeted hall.
This hall was very gloomily lighted, but I could see several pieces of massive old furniture and a number of bookcases, all looking incredibly untidy.
Rather less than a minute elapsed, I suppose, when from some place at the farther end of the hallway Mr. Camber appeared in person. He wore a threadbare dressing gown, the silken collar and cuffs of which were very badly frayed. His hair was dishevelled and palpably he had not shaved this morning.
He was smoking a corncob pipe, and he slowly approached, glancing from the card which he held in his hand in my direction, and then back again at the card, with a curious sort of hesitancy. In spite of his untidy appearance I could not fail to mark the dignity of his bearing, and the almost arrogant angle at which he held his head.