He had noticed
more than once the sinewy fingers of the Chinaman. As the inquest went
on, he had again and again looked at the hands and arms of Orlando, and
it had seemed impossible that, strong as he was, his fingers had the
particular strength which could have done this thing.
The Coroner stood waiting for Rada to come, when suddenly the door opened
and a Chinaman entered--one of the two who had appeared so strangely on
the scene the day before. He advanced to the Coroner with both hands
loosely hanging in the great sleeves of his blue padded coat, his eyes
blinking slowly underneath the brown forehead and the little black
skullcap, and after making salutation with his arms, in curious,
monotonous English with a quaint accent he said:
"Li Choo--Li Choo--he speak. He have to say. He send."
Holding up a piece of paper, he handed it to the Coroner and then stood
blinking and immobile.
A few moments afterwards, the Coroner said: "I have received this note
from Li Choo the Chinaman, sometime employed by the deceased Joel
Mazarine.
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