Ah Tsong’s face remained quite expressionless, and:
“No sabby,” he repeated.
“Oh, I see,” said the Inspector, “This witness refuses to answer at all.”
“You are wrong,” explained Colin Camber, quietly. “Ah Tsong is a Chinaman, and his knowledge of English is very limited. He does not understand you.”
“He understood my first question. You can’t draw wool over my eyes. He knows well enough. Are you going to answer me?” he demanded, angrily, of the Chinaman.
“No sabby, master,” he said, glancing aside at Colin Camber. “Number-one p’licee-man gotchee no pidgin.”
Paul Harley was leisurely filling his pipe, and:
“If you think the evidence of Ah Tsong important, Inspector,” he said, “I will interpret if you wish.”
“You will do what?”
“I will act as interpreter.”
“Do you want me to believe that you speak Chinese?”
“Your beliefs do not concern me, Inspector; I am merely offering my services.”
“Thanks,” said the Inspector, dryly, “but I won’t trouble you. I should like a few words with Mrs. Camber.”
“Very good.”
Colin Camber bent his head gravely, and gave an order to Ah Tsong, who turned and went out.
“And what firearms have you in the house?” asked Inspector Aylesbury.
“An early Dutch arquebus, which you see in the corner,” was the reply.
