“Have you any idea of your own on the murders, Miss Shan?” I asked.
“I have not.”
“What do you know about the servants—the missing ones as well as the dead?”
“I really know little or nothing about them.” She didn’t seem very interested. “Wang Ma was the most recent of them to come to the house, and she has been with me for nearly seven years. My father employed them, and I suppose he knew something about them.”
“Don’t you know where they came from? Whether they have relatives? Whether they have friends? What they did when they weren’t working?”
“No,” she said. “I did not pry into their lives.”
“The two who disappeared—what do they look like?”
“Hoo Lun is an old man, quite white-haired and thin and stooped. He did the housework. Yin Hung, who was my chauffeur and gardener, is younger, about thirty years old, I think. He is quite short, even for a Cantonese, but sturdy. His nose has been broken at some time and not set properly. It is very flat, with a pronounced bend in the bridge.”
“Do you think this pair, or either of them, could have killed the women?”
“I do not think they did.”
“The young Chinese—the stranger who let you in the house—what did he look like?”
“He was quite slender, and not more than twenty or twenty-one years old, with large gold fillings in his front teeth. I think he was quite dark.”