'"You gentlemen no likee food here," he said. "You come for what you likee better. Piecee pipe, eh?"

'Mr Pearson, he gave me the great kick under the table. (He had on the boots of the sea, too!) And he said: "I don't mind if I do, John. Lead ahead."

'The Chinaman smiled, and he took us through a door and to a cellar and through a trapdoor, and down some steps and up again into a room all full of divans and cushions of the most comfortable. We lay down and a Chinese boy took off our boots. It was the best moment of the evening. Then they brought us the opium-pipes and cooked the opium-pills, and we pretended to smoke and then to sleep and dream. But when we were alone, Mr Pearson called softly to me, and immediately he began crawling along the floor. We went into another room where other people were asleep, and so on, until we heard two men talking. We stayed behind a curtain and listened. They were speaking of Wu Ling.

'"What about the papers?" said one.

'"Mr Lester, he takee those," answered the other, who was a Chinaman. "He say, puttee them all in safee place - where pleeceman no lookee."

'"Ah, but he's nabbed," said the first one.

'"He gettee free. Pleeceman not sure he done it."

'There was more of the same kind of thing, then apparently the two men were coming our way, and we scuttled back to our beds.

'"We'd better get out of here," said Pearson, after a few minutes had elapsed. "This place isn't healthy."

'"You are right, monsieur," I agreed. "We have played the farce long enough."

'We succeeded in getting away, all right, paying handsomely for our smoke. Once clear of Limehouse, Pearson drew a long breath.

'"I'm glad to get out of that," he said. "But it's something to be sure."

'"It is indeed," I agreed. "And I fancy that we shall not have much difficulty in finding what we want - after this evening's masquerade."

'And there was no difficulty whatsoever,' finished Poirot suddenly.

This abrupt ending seemed so extraordinary that I stared at him.

'But - but where were they?' I asked.

'In his pocket - tout simplement.'

'But in whose pocket?'

'Mr Pearson's, parbleu!'

Then, observing my look of bewilderment, he continued gently:

'You do not yet see it? Mr Pearson, like Charles Lester, was in debt. Mr Pearson, like Charles Lester, was fond of gambling. And he conceived the idea of stealing the papers from the Chinaman. He met him all right at Southampton, came up to London with him, and took him straight to Limehouse. It was foggy that day; the Chinaman would not notice where he was going. I fancy Mr Pearson smoked the opium fairly often down there and had some peculiar friends in consequence. I do not think he meant murder. His idea was that one of the Chinamen should impersonate Wu Ling and receive the money for the sale of the document. So far, so good! But, to the Oriental mind, it was infinitely simpler to kill Wu Ling and throw his body into the river, and Pearson's Chinese accomplices followed their own methods without consulting him. Imagine, then, what you would call the "funk bleu" of M. Pearson. Someone may have seen him in the train with Wu Ling - murder is a very different thing from simple abduction.