The speaker paused with due dramatic effect.

“Got what out of him?” cried Brett impatiently.  “And don’t puff your cheeks in that way.  Remember the terrible fate of the frog who would be a bull.”

“There’s neither frogs nor bulls in this business,” retorted Winter, calm in the consciousness of his coming revelation.  “Mrs. Capella did go to Middle Street that night.  She drove there in a hansom, had a long talk with Ooma, and nearly drove Miss Dew crazy with jealousy.”

“We guessed that already.  Miss Dew is the prospective princess, I presume?”

“Yes.  She has been twice to the hotel since, trying to find out where the party went to.”

“Next?”

“Ooma has plenty of money, and now for my prize packet—­he is a Jap!”

“Impossible!”

“This time you are wrong, Mr. Brett.  You have only seen him once.  You were full of his remarkable likeness to the Hume-Frazers.  It is startling, I admit, and at night-time no man living could avoid the mistake.  But I tell you he is a Jap.  He met Jiro yesterday, and they walked in Kensington Palace Gardens.  They talked Japanese all the time.  My mate heard them.  He distinctly caught the word ‘Okasaki’ more than once.  He managed to shadow them very neatly by hiring a bath-chair and telling the attendant to come near to the pair every time there was a chance.  More than that, when you know it, you can see the Japanese eyes, skin, and mouth.  It is the grafting of the Jap on the European model that gives him the likeness to—­well, to the party you mentioned the other day.”

“The devil!” exclaimed Brett.

“That’s him!”

It was useless to explain that the exclamation was one of amazement.

The barrister began to roam about the apartment, frowning with the intensity of his thoughts.  Once he confronted Winter.

“Are you sure of this?” he demanded.

“So sure that were it not for your positive instructions, Mr. Ooma would now be in Holloway, awaiting his trial on a charge of murder.  Look at the facts.  ‘Rabbit Jack’ can identify him.  He knew how to use the Ko-Katana.  He knew the Japanese tricks of wrestling, which enabled him to make those two clever attacks on the two cousins.  He has some power over Mrs. Capella, which brings her to him at eleven at night in a distant quarter of London.  He made Jiro write the typed letter in my possession.  He sent Jiro to Ipswich to attend Mr. David’s second trial when the first missed fire.  I can string Mr. Ooma on that little lot.”

“Winter,” said Brett sternly, “you make me tired.  Have all these stunning items of intelligence invaded your intellect only since you went to Middle Street?”

“No, not exactly, Mr. Brett.  I must admit that each one of them is your discovery, except the fact that he is a Jap—­always excepting that—­but yesterday I strung them together, so to speak.”

“Ending your task by stringing Ooma, in imagination.  I allow you full credit for your sensational development—­always excepting this, that I sent you to Middle Street.  Why did he kill Sir Alan?  How does his Japanese nationality elucidate an utterly useless and purposeless murder?”