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+The Project Gutenberg eBook of Dope, by Sax Rohmer
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
+of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
+www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
+will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
+using this eBook.
+
+Title: Dope
+
+Author: Sax Rohmer
+
+Release Date: January, 1998 [eBook #1182]
+[Most recently updated: October 7, 2022]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+Produced by: Alan Johns and David Widger
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DOPE ***
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+Dope
+
+By Sax Rohmer
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+ PART FIRST—KAZMAH THE DREAM-READER
+ CHAPTER I. A MESSAGE FOR IRVIN
+ CHAPTER II. THE APARTMENTS OF KAZMAH
+ CHAPTER III. KAZMAH
+ CHAPTER IV. THE CLOSED DOOR
+ CHAPTER V. THE DOOR IS OPENED
+ CHAPTER VI. RED KERRY
+ CHAPTER VII. FURTHER EVIDENCE
+ CHAPTER VIII. KERRY CONSULTS THE ORACLE
+ CHAPTER IX. A PACKET OF CIGARETTES
+ CHAPTER X. SIR LUCIEN’S STUDY WINDOW
+ CHAPTER XI. THE DRUG SYNDICATE
+
+ PART SECOND—MRS. SIN
+ CHAPTER XII. THE MAID OF THE MASQUE
+ CHAPTER XIII. A CHANDU PARTY
+ CHAPTER XIV. IN THE SHADE OF THE LONELY PALM
+ CHAPTER XV. METAMORPHOSIS
+ CHAPTER XVI. LIMEHOUSE
+ CHAPTER XVII. THE BLACK SMOKE
+ CHAPTER XVIII. THE DREAM OF SIN SIN WA
+ CHAPTER XIX. THE TRAFFIC
+ CHAPTER XX. KAZMAH’S METHODS
+ CHAPTER XXI. THE CIGARETTES FROM BUENOS AYRES
+ CHAPTER XXII. THE STRANGLE-HOLD
+
+ PART THIRD—THE MAN FROM WHITEHALL
+ CHAPTER XXIII. CHIEF INSPECTOR KERRY RESIGNS
+ CHAPTER XXIV. TO INTRODUCE 719
+ CHAPTER XXV. NIGHT-LIFE OF SOHO
+ CHAPTER XXVI. THE MOODS OF MOLLIE
+ CHAPTER XXVII. CROWN EVIDENCE
+ CHAPTER XXVIII. THE GILDED JOSS
+ CHAPTER XXIX. DOUBTS AND FEARS
+ CHAPTER XXX. THE FIGHT IN THE DARK
+ CHAPTER XXXI. THE STORY OF 719
+ CHAPTER XXXII. ON THE ISLE OF DOGS
+
+ PART FOURTH—THE EYE OF SIN SIN WA
+ CHAPTER XXXIII. CHINESE MAGIC
+ CHAPTER XXXIV. ABOVE AND BELOW
+ CHAPTER XXXV. BEYOND THE VEIL
+ CHAPTER XXXVI. SAM TÛK MOVES
+ CHAPTER XXXVII. SETON PASHA REPORTS
+ CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE SONG OF SIN SIN WA
+ CHAPTER XXXIX. THE EMPTY WHARF
+ CHAPTER XL. COIL OF THE PIGTAIL
+ CHAPTER XLI. THE FINDING OF KAZMAH
+ CHAPTER XLII. A YEAR LATER
+ CHAPTER XLIII. THE STORY OF THE CRIME
+
+
+
+
+PART FIRST
+KAZMAH THE DREAM-READER
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+A MESSAGE FOR IRVIN
+
+
+Monte Irvin, alderman of the city and prospective Lord Mayor of London,
+paced restlessly from end to end of the well-appointed library of his
+house in Prince’s Gate. Between his teeth he gripped the stump of a
+burnt-out cigar. A tiny spaniel lay beside the fire, his beady black
+eyes following the nervous movements of the master of the house.
+
+At the age of forty-five Monte Irvin was not ill-looking, and, indeed,
+was sometimes spoken of as handsome. His figure was full without being
+corpulent; his well-groomed black hair and moustache and fresh if
+rather coarse complexion, together with the dignity of his upright
+carriage, lent him something of a military air. This he assiduously
+cultivated as befitting an ex-Territorial officer, although as he had
+seen no active service he modestly refrained from using any title of
+rank.
+
+Some quality in his brilliant smile, an oriental expressiveness of the
+dark eyes beneath their drooping lids, hinted a Semitic strain; but it
+was otherwise not marked in his appearance, which was free from
+vulgarity, whilst essentially that of a successful man of affairs.
+
+In fact, Monte Irvin had made a success of every affair in life with
+the lamentable exception of his marriage. Of late his forehead had
+grown lined, and those business friends who had known him for a man of
+abstemious habits had observed in the City chophouse at which he
+lunched almost daily that whereas formerly he had been a noted
+trencherman, he now ate little but drank much.
+
+Suddenly the spaniel leapt up with that feverish, spider-like activity
+of the toy species and began to bark.
+
+Monte Irvin paused in his restless patrol and listened.
+
+“Lie down!” he said. “Be quiet.”
+
+The spaniel ran to the door, sniffing eagerly. A muffled sound of
+voices became audible, and Irvin, following a moment of hesitation,
+crossed and opened the door. The dog ran out, yapping in his irritating
+staccato fashion, and an expression of hope faded from Irvin’s face as
+he saw a tall fair girl standing in the hallway talking to Hinkes, the
+butler. She wore soiled Burberry, high-legged tan boots, and a peaked
+cap of distinctly military appearance. Irvin would have retired again,
+but the girl glanced up and saw him where he stood by the library door.
+He summoned up a smile and advanced.
+
+“Good evening, Miss Halley,” he said, striving to speak genially—for of
+all of his wife’s friends he liked Margaret Halley the best. “Were you
+expecting to find Rita at home?”
+
+The girl’s expression was vaguely troubled. She had the clear
+complexion and bright eyes of perfect health, but to-night her eyes
+seemed over-bright, whilst her face was slightly pale.
+
+“Yes,” she replied; “that is, I hoped she might be at home.”
+
+“I am afraid I cannot tell you when she is likely to return. But please
+come in, and I will make inquiries.”
+
+“Oh, no, I would rather you did not trouble and I won’t stay, thank you
+nevertheless. I expect she will ring me up when she comes in.”
+
+“Is there any message I can give her?”
+
+“Well”—she hesitated for an instant—“you might tell her, if you would,
+that I only returned home at eight o’clock, so that I could not come
+around any earlier.” She glanced rapidly at Irvin, biting her lip. “I
+wish I could have seen her,” she added in a low voice.
+
+“She wishes to see you particularly?”
+
+“Yes. She left a note this afternoon.” Again she glanced at him in a
+troubled way. “Well, I suppose it cannot be helped,” she added and
+smilingly extended her hand. “Good night, Mr. Irvin. Don’t bother to
+come to the door.”
+
+But Irvin passed Hinkes and walked out under the porch with Margaret
+Halley. Humid yellow mist floated past the street lamps, and seemed to
+have gathered in a moving reef around the little runabout car which was
+standing outside the house, its motor chattering tremulously.
+
+“Phew! a beastly night!” he said. “Foggy and wet.”
+
+“It’s a brute isn’t it?” said the girl laughingly, and turned on the
+steps so that the light shining out of the hallway gleamed on her white
+teeth and upraised eyes. She was pulling on big, ugly, furred gloves,
+and Monte Irvin mentally contrasted her fresh, athletic type of beauty
+with the delicate, exotic charm of his wife.
+
+She opened the door of the little car, got in and drove off, waving one
+hugely gloved hand to Irvin as he stood in the porch looking after her.
+When the red tail-light had vanished in the mist he returned to the
+house and re-entered the library. If only all his wife’s friends were
+like Margaret Halley, he mused, he might have been spared the
+insupportable misgivings which were goading him to madness. His mind
+filled with poisonous suspicions, he resumed his pacing of the library,
+awaiting and dreading that which should confirm his blackest theories.
+He was unaware of the fact that throughout the interview he had held
+the stump of cigar between his teeth. He held it there yet, pacing,
+pacing up and down the long room.
+
+Then came the expected summons. The telephone bell rang. Monte Irvin
+clenched his hands and inhaled deeply. His color changed in a manner
+that would have aroused a physician’s interest. Regaining his
+self-possession by a visible effort, he crossed to a small side-table
+upon which the instrument rested. Rolling the cigar stump into the left
+corner of his mouth, he took up the receiver.
+
+“Hallo!” he said.
+
+“Someone named Brisley, sir, wishes—”
+
+“Put him through to me here.”
+
+“Very good, sir.”
+
+A short interval, then:
+
+“Yes?” said Monte Irvin.
+
+“My name is Brisley. I have a message for Mr. Monte Irvin.”
+
+“Monte Irvin speaking. Anything to report, Brisley?”
+
+Irvin’s deep, rich voice was not entirely under control.
+
+“Yes, sir. The lady drove by taxicab from Prince’s Gate to Albemarle
+Street.”
+
+“Ah!”
+
+“Went up to chambers of Sir Lucien Pyne and was admitted.”
+
+“Well?”
+
+“Twenty minutes later came out. Lady was with Sir Lucien. Both walked
+around to old Bond Street. The Honorable Quentin Gray—”
+
+“Ah!” breathed Irvin.
+
+“—Overtook them there. He got out of a cab. He joined them. All three
+up to apartments of a professional crystal-gazer styling himself Kazmah
+‘the dream-reader.’”
+
+A puzzled expression began to steal over the face of Monte Irvin. At
+the sound of the telephone bell he had paled somewhat. Now he began to
+recover his habitual florid coloring.
+
+“Go on,” he directed, for the speaker had paused.
+
+“Seven to ten minutes later,” resumed the nasal voice, “Mr. Gray came
+down. He hailed a passing cab, but man refused to stop. Mr. Gray seemed
+to be very irritable.”
+
+The fact that the invisible speaker was reading from a notebook he
+betrayed by his monotonous intonation and abbreviated sentences, which
+resembled those of a constable giving evidence in a police court.
+
+“He walked off rapidly in direction of Piccadilly. Colleague followed.
+Near the Ritz he obtained a cab. He returned in same to old Bond
+Street. He ran upstairs and was gone from four-and-a-half to five
+minutes. He then came down again. He was very pale and agitated. He
+discharged cab and walked away. Colleague followed. He saw Mr. Gray
+enter Prince’s Restaurant. In the hall Mr. Gray met a gent unknown by
+sight to colleague. Following some conversation both gents went in to
+dinner. They are there now. Speaking from Dover Street Tube.”
+
+“Yes, yes. But the lady?”
+
+“A native, possibly Egyptian, apparently servant of Kazmah, came out a
+few minutes after Mr. Gray had gone for cab, and went away. Sir Lucien
+Pyne and lady are still in Kazmah’s rooms.”
+
+“What!” cried Irvin, pulling out his watch and glancing at the disk.
+“But it’s after eight o’clock!”
+
+“Yes, sir. The place is all shut up, and other offices in block closed
+at six. Door of Kazmah’s is locked. I knocked and got no reply.”
+
+“Damn it! You’re talking nonsense! There must be another exit.”
+
+“No, sir. Colleague has just relieved me. Left two gents over their
+wine at Prince’s.”
+
+Monte Irvin’s color began to fade slowly.
+
+“Then it’s Pyne!” he whispered. The hand which held the receiver shook.
+“Brisley—meet me at the Piccadilly end of Bond Street. I am coming
+now.”
+
+He put down the telephone, crossed to the wall and pressed a button.
+The cigar stump held firmly between his teeth, he stood on the rug
+before the hearth, facing the door. Presently it opened and Hinkes came
+in.
+
+“The car is ready, Hinkes?”
+
+“Yes, sir, as you ordered. Shall Pattison come round to the door?”
+
+“At once.”
+
+“Very good, sir.”
+
+He withdrew, closing the door quietly, and Monte Irvin stood staring
+across the library at the full-length portrait in oils of his wife in
+the pierrot dress which she had worn in the third act of _The Maid of
+the Masque_.
+
+The clock in the hall struck half-past eight.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+THE APARTMENTS OF KAZMAH
+
+
+It was rather less than two hours earlier on the same evening that
+Quentin Gray came out of the confectioner’s shop in old Bond Street
+carrying a neat parcel. Yellow dusk was closing down upon this bazaar
+of the New Babylon, and many of the dealers in precious gems, vendors
+of rich stuffs, and makers of modes had already deserted their shops.
+Smartly dressed show-girls, saleswomen, girl clerks and others crowded
+the pavements, which at high noon had been thronged with ladies of
+fashion. Here a tailor’s staff, there a hatter’s lingered awhile as
+iron shutters and gratings were secured, and bidding one another good
+night, separated and made off towards Tube and bus. The working day was
+ended. Society was dressing for dinner.
+
+Gray was about to enter the cab which awaited him, and his
+fresh-colored, boyish face wore an expression of eager expectancy,
+which must have betrayed the fact to an experienced beholder that he
+was hurrying to keep an agreeable appointment. Then, his hand resting
+on the handle of the cab-door, this expression suddenly changed to one
+of alert suspicion.
+
+A tall, dark man, accompanied by a woman muffled in grey furs and
+wearing a silk scarf over her hair, had passed on foot along the
+opposite side of the street. Gray had seen them through the cab
+windows.
+
+His smooth brow wrinkled and his mouth tightened to a thin straight
+line beneath the fair “regulation” moustache. He fumbled under his
+overcoat for loose silver, drew out a handful and paid off the taximan.
+
+Sometimes walking in the gutter in order to avoid the throngs upon the
+pavement, regardless of the fact that his glossy dress-boots were
+becoming spattered with mud, Gray hurried off in pursuit of the pair.
+Twenty yards ahead he overtook them, as they were on the point of
+passing a picture dealer’s window, from which yellow light streamed
+forth into the humid dusk. They were walking slowly, and Gray stopped
+in front of them.
+
+“Hello, you two!” he cried. “Where are you off to? I was on my way to
+call for you, Rita.”
+
+Flushed and boyish he stood before them, and his annoyance was
+increased by their failure to conceal the fact that his appearance was
+embarrassing if not unwelcome. Mrs. Monte Irvin was a petite, pretty
+woman, although some of the more wonderful bronzed tints of her hair
+suggested the employment of henna, and her naturally lovely complexion
+was delicately and artistically enhanced by art. Nevertheless, the
+flower-like face peeping out from the folds of a gauzy scarf, like a
+rose from a mist, whilst her soft little chin nestled into the fur,
+might have explained even in the case of an older man the infatuation
+which Quentin Gray was at no pains to hide.
+
+She glanced up at her companion, Sir Lucien Pyne, a swarthy, cynical
+type of aristocrat, imperturbably. Then: “I had left a note for you,
+Quentin,” she said hurriedly. She seemed to be in a dangerously
+high-strung condition.
+
+“But I have booked a table and a box,” cried Gray, with a hint of
+juvenile petulance.
+
+“My dear Gray,” said Sir Lucien coolly, “we are men of the world—and we
+do not look for consistency in womenfolk. Mrs. Irvin has decided to
+consult a palmist or a hypnotist or some such occult authority before
+dining with you this evening. Doubtless she seeks to learn if the play
+to which you propose to take her is an amusing one.”
+
+His smile of sardonic amusement Gray found to be almost insupportable,
+and although Sir Lucien refrained from looking at Mrs. Irvin whilst he
+spoke, it was evident enough that his words held some covert
+significance, for:
+
+“You know perfectly well that I have a particular reason for seeing
+him,” she said.
+
+“A woman’s particular reason is a man’s feeble excuse,” murmured Sir
+Lucien rudely. “At least, according to a learned Arabian philosopher.”
+
+“I was going to meet you at Prince’s,” said Mrs. Irvin hurriedly, and
+again glancing at Gray. There was a pathetic hesitancy in her manner,
+the hesitancy of a weak woman who adheres to a purpose only by supreme
+effort.
+
+“Might I ask,” said Gray, “the name of the pervert you are going to
+consult?”
+
+Again she hesitated and glanced rapidly at Sir Lucien, but he was
+staring coolly in another direction.
+
+“Kazmah,” she replied in a low voice.
+
+“Kazmah!” cried Gray. “The man who sells perfume and pretends to read
+dreams? What an extraordinary notion. Wouldn’t tomorrow do? He will
+surely have shut up shop!”
+
+“I have been at pains to ascertain,” replied Sir Lucien, “at Mrs.
+Irvin’s express desire, that the man of mystery is still in session and
+will receive her.”
+
+Beneath the mask of nonchalance which he wore it might have been
+possible to detect excitement repressed with difficulty; and had Gray
+been more composed and not obsessed with the idea that Sir Lucien had
+deliberately intruded upon his plans for the evening, he could not have
+failed to perceive that Mrs. Monte Irvin was feverishly preoccupied
+with matters having no relation to dinner and the theatre. But his
+private suspicions grew only the more acute.
+
+“Then if the dinner is not off,” he said, “may I come along and wait
+for you?”
+
+“At Kazmah’s?” asked Mrs. Irvin. “Certainly.” She turned to Sir Lucien.
+“Shall you wait? It isn’t much use as I’m dining with Quentin.”
+
+“If I do not intrude,” replied the baronet, “I will accompany you as
+far as the cave of the oracle, and then bid you good night.”
+
+The trio proceeded along old Bond Street. Quentin Gray regarded the
+story of Kazmah as a very poor lie devised on the spur of the moment.
+If he had been less infatuated, his natural sense of dignity must have
+dictated an offer to release Mrs. Irvin from her engagement. But
+jealousy stimulates the worst instincts and destroys the best. He was
+determined to attach himself as closely as the old Man of the Sea
+attached himself to Es-Sindibad, in order that the lie might be
+unmasked. Mrs. Irvin’s palpable embarrassment and nervousness he
+ascribed to her perception of his design.
+
+A group of shop girls and others waiting for buses rendered it
+impossible for the three to keep abreast, and Gray, falling to the
+rear, stepped upon the foot of a little man who was walking close
+behind them.
+
+“Sorry, sir,” said the man, suppressing an exclamation of pain—for the
+fault had been Gray’s.
+
+Gray muttered an ungenerous acknowledgment, all anxiety to regain the
+side of Mrs. Irvin; for she seemed to be speaking rapidly and excitedly
+to Sir Lucien.
+
+He recovered his place as the two turned in at a lighted doorway. Upon
+the wall was a bronze plate bearing the inscription:
+
+KAZMAH
+Second Floor
+
+
+Gray fully expected Mrs. Irvin to suggest that he should return later.
+But without a word she began to ascend the stairs. Gray followed, Sir
+Lucien standing aside to give him precedence. On the second floor was a
+door painted in Oriental fashion. It possessed neither bell nor
+knocker, but as one stepped upon the threshold this door opened
+noiselessly as if dumbly inviting the visitor to enter the square
+apartment discovered. This apartment was richly furnished in the Arab
+manner, and lighted by a fine brass lamp swung upon chains from the
+painted ceiling. The intricate perforations of the lamp were inset with
+colored glass, and the result was a subdued and warm illumination.
+Odd-looking oriental vessels, long-necked jars, jugs with tenuous
+spouts and squat bowls possessing engraved and figured covers emerged
+from the shadows of niches. A low divan with gaily colored mattresses
+extended from the door around one corner of the room where it
+terminated beside a kind of _mushrabîyeh_ cabinet or cupboard. Beyond
+this cabinet was a long, low counter laden with statuettes of Nile
+gods, amulets, mummy-beads and little stoppered flasks of blue enamel
+ware. There were two glass cases filled with other strange-looking
+antiquities. A faint perfume was perceptible.
+
+Sir Lucien entering last of the party, the door closed behind him, and
+from the cabinet on the right of the divan a young Egyptian stepped
+out. He wore the customary white robe, red sash and red slippers, and a
+_tarbûsh_, the little scarlet cap commonly called a fez, was set upon
+his head. He walked to a door on the left of the counter, and slid it
+noiselessly open. Bowing gravely, “The Sheikh el Kazmah awaits,” he
+said, speaking with the soft intonation of a native of Upper Egypt.
+
+It now became evident, even to the infatuated Gray, that Mrs. Irvin was
+laboring under the influence of tremendous excitement. She turned to
+him quickly, and he thought that her face looked almost haggard, whilst
+her eyes seemed to have changed color—become lighter, although he could
+not be certain that this latter effect was not due to the peculiar
+illumination of the room. But when she spoke her voice was unsteady.
+
+“Will you see if you can find a cab,” she said. “It is so difficult at
+night, and my shoes will get frightfully muddy crossing Piccadilly. I
+shall not be more than a few minutes.” She walked through the doorway,
+the Egyptian standing aside as she passed. He followed her, but came
+out again almost immediately, reclosed the door, and retired into the
+cabinet, which was evidently his private cubicle.
+
+Silence claimed the apartment. Sir Lucien threw himself nonchalantly
+upon the divan, and took out his cigarette-case.
+
+“Will you have a cigarette, Gray?” he asked.
+
+“No thanks,” replied the other, in tones of smothered hostility. He was
+ill at ease, and paced the apartment nervously. Pyne lighted a
+cigarette, and tossed the extinguished match into a brass bowl.
+
+“I think,” said Gray jerkily, “I shall go for a cab. Are you
+remaining?”
+
+“I am dining at the club,” answered Pyne, “but I can wait until you
+return.”
+
+“As you wish,” jerked Gray. “I don’t expect to be long.”
+
+He walked rapidly to the outer door, which opened at his approach and
+closed noiselessly behind him as he made his exit.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+KAZMAH
+
+
+Mrs. Monte Irvin entered the inner room. The air was heavy with the
+perfume of frankincense which smouldered in a brass vessel set upon a
+tray. This was the audience chamber of Kazmah. In marked contrast to
+the overcrowded appointments, divans and cupboards of the first room,
+it was sparsely furnished. The floor was thickly carpeted, but save for
+an ornate inlaid table upon which stood the tray and incense-burner,
+and a long, low-cushioned seat placed immediately beneath a hanging
+lamp burning dimly in a globular green shade, it was devoid of
+decoration. The walls were draped with green curtains, so that except
+for the presence of the painted door, the four sides of the apartment
+appeared to be uniform.
+
+Having conducted Mrs. Irvin to the seat, the Egyptian bowed and retired
+again through the doorway by which they had entered. The visitor found
+herself alone.
+
+She moved nervously, staring across at the blank wall before her. With
+her little satin shoe she tapped the carpet, biting her under lip and
+seeming to be listening. Nothing stirred. Not even an echo of busy Bond
+Street penetrated to the place. Mrs. Irvin unfastened her cloak and
+allowed it to fall back upon the settee. Her bare shoulders looked
+waxen and unnatural in the weird light which shone down upon them. She
+was breathing rapidly.
+
+The minutes passed by in unbroken silence. So still was the room that
+Mrs. Irvin could hear the faint crackling sound made by the burning
+charcoal in the brass vessel near her. Wisps of blue-grey smoke arose
+through the perforated lid and she began to watch them fascinatedly, so
+lithe they seemed, like wraiths of serpents creeping up the green
+draperies.
+
+So she was seated, her foot still restlessly tapping, but her gaze
+arrested by the hypnotic movements of the smoke, when at last a sound
+from the outer world, penetrated to the room. A church clock struck the
+hour of seven, its clangor intruding upon the silence only as a muffled
+boom. Almost coincident with the last stroke came the sweeter note of a
+silver gong from somewhere close at hand.
+
+Mrs. Irvin started, and her eyes turned instantly in the direction of
+the greenly draped wall before her. Her pupils had grown suddenly
+dilated, and she clenched her hands tightly.
+
+The light above her head went out.
+
+Now that the moment was come to which she had looked forward with
+mingled hope and terror, long pent-up emotion threatened to overcome
+her, and she trembled wildly.
+
+Out of the darkness dawned a vague light and in it a shape seemed to
+take form. As the light increased the effect was as though part of the
+wall had become transparent so as to reveal the interior of an inner
+room where a figure was seated in a massive ebony chair. The figure was
+that of an oriental, richly robed and wearing a white turban. His long
+slim hands, of the color of old ivory, rested upon the arms of the
+chair, and on the first finger of the right hand gleamed a big
+talismanic ring. The face of the seated man was lowered, but from under
+heavy brows his abnormally large eyes regarded her fixedly.
+
+So dim the light remained that it was impossible to discern the details
+with anything like clearness, but that the clean-shaven face of the man
+with those wonderful eyes was strikingly and intellectually handsome
+there could be no doubt.
+
+This was Kazmah, “the dream reader,” and although Mrs. Irvin had seen
+him before, his statuesque repose and the weirdness of his unfaltering
+gaze thrilled her uncannily.
+
+Kazmah slightly raised his hand in greeting: the big ring glittered in
+the subdued light.
+
+“Tell me your dream,” came a curious mocking voice; “and I will read
+its portent.”
+
+Such was the set formula with which Kazmah opened all interviews. He
+spoke with a slight and not unmusical accent. He lowered his hand
+again. The gaze of those brilliant eyes remained fixed upon the woman’s
+face. Moistening her lips, Mrs. Irvin spoke.
+
+“Dreams! What I have to say does not belong to dreams, but to reality!”
+She laughed unmirthfully. “You know well enough why I am here.”
+
+She paused.
+
+“Why are you here?”
+
+“You know! You know!” Suddenly into her voice had come the unmistakable
+note of hysteria. “Your theatrical tricks do not impress me. I know
+what you are! A spy—an eavesdropper who watches—watches, and listens!
+But you may go too far! I am nearly desperate—do you understand?—nearly
+desperate. Speak! Move! Answer me!”
+
+But Kazmah preserved his uncanny repose.
+
+“You are distracted,” he said. “I am sorry for you. But why do you come
+to _me_ with your stories of desperation? You have insisted upon seeing
+me. I am here.”
+
+“And you play with me—taunt me!”
+
+“The remedy is in your hands.”
+
+“For the last time, I tell you I will never do it! Never, never,
+never!”
+
+“Then why do you complain? If you cannot afford to pay for your
+amusements, and you refuse to compromise in a simple manner, why do you
+approach _me?_”
+
+“Oh, my God!” She moaned and swayed dizzily—“have pity on me! Who are
+you, what are you, that you can bring ruin on a woman because—” She
+uttered a choking sound, but continued hoarsely, “Raise your head. Let
+me see your face. As heaven is my witness, I am ruined—ruined!”
+
+“Tomorrow—”
+
+“I cannot wait for tomorrow—”
+
+That quivering, hoarse cry betrayed a condition of desperate febrile
+excitement. Mrs. Irvin was capable of proceeding to the wildest
+extremities. Clearly the mysterious Egyptian recognized this to be the
+case, for slowly raising his hand:
+
+“I will communicate with you,” he said, and the words were spoken
+almost hurriedly. “Depart in peace—“; a formula wherewith he terminated
+every seance. He lowered his hand.
+
+The silver gong sounded again—and the dim light began to fade.
+
+Thereupon the unhappy woman acted; the long suppressed outburst came at
+last. Stepping rapidly to the green transparent veil behind which
+Kazmah was seated, she wrenched it asunder and leapt toward the figure
+in the black chair.
+
+“You shall not trick me!” she panted. “Hear me out or I go straight to
+the police—now—_now!_”
+
+She grasped the hands of Kazmah as they rested motionless, on the
+chair-arms.
+
+Complete darkness came.
+
+Out of it rose a husky, terrified cry—a second, louder cry; and then a
+long, wailing scream... horror-laden as that of one who has touched
+some slumbering reptile....
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+THE CLOSED DOOR
+
+
+Rather less than five minutes later a taxicab drew up in old Bond
+Street, and from it Quentin Gray leapt out impetuously and ran in at
+the doorway leading to Kazmah’s stairs. So hurried was his progress
+that he collided violently with a little man who, carrying himself with
+a pronounced stoop, was slinking furtively out.
+
+The little man reeled at the impact and almost fell, but:
+
+“Hang it all!” cried Gray irritably. “Why the devil don’t you look
+where you’re going!”
+
+He glared angrily into the face of the other. It was a peculiar and
+rememberable face, notable because of a long, sharp, hooked nose and
+very little, foxy, brown eyes; a sly face to which a small, fair
+moustache only added insignificance. It was crowned by a wide-brimmed
+bowler hat which the man wore pressed down upon his ears like a Jew
+pedlar.
+
+“Why!” cried Gray, “this is the second time tonight you have jostled
+me!”
+
+He thought he had recognized the man for the same who had been
+following himself, Mrs. Irvin and Sir Lucien Pyne along old Bond
+Street.
+
+A smile, intended to be propitiatory, appeared upon the pale face.
+
+“No, sir, excuse me, sir—”
+
+“Don’t deny it!” said Gray angrily. “If I had the time I should give
+you in charge as a suspicious loiterer.”
+
+Calling to the cabman to wait, he ran up the stairs to the second floor
+landing. Before the painted door bearing the name of Kazmah he halted,
+and as the door did not open, stamped impatiently, but with no better
+result.
+
+At that, since there was neither bell nor knocker, he raised his fist
+and banged loudly.
+
+No one responded to the summons.
+
+“Hi, there!” he shouted. “Open the door! Pyne! Rita!”
+
+Again he banged—and yet again. Then he paused, listening, his ear
+pressed to the panel.
+
+He could detect no sound of movement within. Fists clenched, he stood
+staring at the closed door, and his fresh color slowly deserted him and
+left him pale.
+
+“Damn him!” he muttered savagely. “Damn him! he has fooled me!”
+
+Passionate and self-willed, he was shaken by a storm of murderous
+anger. That Pyne had planned this trick, with Rita Irvin’s consent, he
+did not doubt, and his passive dislike of the man became active hatred
+of the woman he dared not think. He had for long looked upon Sir Lucien
+in the light of a rival, and the irregularity of his own infatuation
+for another’s wife in no degree lessened his resentment.
+
+Again he pressed his ear to the door, and listened intently. Perhaps
+they were hiding within. Perhaps this charlatan, Kazmah, was an
+accomplice in the pay of Sir Lucien. Perhaps this was a secret place of
+rendezvous.
+
+To the manifest absurdity of such a conjecture he was blind in his
+anger. But that he was helpless, befooled, he recognized; and with a
+final muttered imprecation he turned and slowly descended the stair. A
+lingering hope was dispelled when, looking right and left along Bond
+Street, he failed to perceive the missing pair.
+
+The cabman glanced at him interrogatively. “I shall not require you,”
+said Gray, and gave the man half-a-crown.
+
+Busy with his poisonous conjectures, he remained all unaware of the
+presence of a furtive, stooping figure which lurked behind the railings
+of the arcade at this point linking old Bond Street to Albemarle
+Street. Nor had the stooping stranger any wish to attract Gray’s
+attention. Most of the shops in the narrow lane were already closed,
+although the florist’s at the corner remained open, but of the shadow
+which lay along the greater part of the arcade this alert watcher took
+every advantage. From the recess formed by a shop door he peered out at
+Gray, where the light of a street lamp fell upon him, studying his
+face, his movements, with unrelaxing vigilance.
+
+Gray, following some moments of indecision, strode off towards
+Piccadilly. The little man came out cautiously from his hiding-place
+and looked after him. Out of a dark porch, ten paces along Bond Street,
+appeared a burly figure to fall into step a few yards behind Gray. The
+little man licked his lips appreciatively and returned to the doorway
+below the premises of Kazmah.
+
+Reaching Piccadilly, Gray stood for a time on the corner, indifferent
+to the jostling of passers-by. Finally he crossed, walked along to the
+Prince’s Restaurant, and entered the lobby. He glanced at his
+wrist-watch. It registered the hour of seven-twenty-five.
+
+He cancelled his order for a table and was standing staring moodily
+towards the entrance when the doors swung open and a man entered who
+stepped straight up to him, hand extended, and:
+
+“Glad to see you, Gray,” he said. “What’s the trouble?”
+
+Quentin Gray stared as if incredulous at the speaker, and it was with
+an unmistakable note of welcome in his voice that he replied:
+
+“Seton! Seton Pasha!”
+
+The frown disappeared from Gray’s forehead, and he gripped the other’s
+hand in hearty greeting. But:
+
+“Stick to plain Seton!” said the new-comer, glancing rapidly about him.
+“Ottoman titles are not fashionable.”
+
+The speaker was a man of arresting personality. Above medium height,
+well but leanly built, the face of Seton “Pasha” was burned to a deeper
+shade than England’s wintry sun is capable of producing. He wore a
+close-trimmed beard and moustache, and the bronze on his cheeks
+enhanced the brightness of his grey eyes and rendered very noticeable a
+slight frosting of the dark hair above his temples. He had the
+indescribable air of a “sure” man, a sound man to have beside one in a
+tight place; and looking into the rather grim face, Quentin Gray felt
+suddenly ashamed of himself. From Seton Pasha he knew that he could
+keep nothing back. He knew that presently he should find himself
+telling this quiet, brown-skinned man the whole story of his
+humiliation—and he knew that Seton would not spare his feelings.
+
+“My dear fellow,” he said, “you must pardon me if I sometimes fail to
+respect your wishes in this matter. When I left the East the name of
+Seton Pasha was on everybody’s tongue. But are you alone?”
+
+“I am. I only arrived in London tonight and in England this morning.”
+
+“Were you thinking of dining here?”
+
+“No; I saw you through the doorway as I was passing. But this will do
+as well as another place. I gather that you are disengaged. Perhaps you
+will dine with me?”
+
+“Splendid!” cried Gray. “Wait a moment. Perhaps my table hasn’t gone!”
+
+He ran off in his boyish, impetuous fashion, and Seton watched him,
+smiling quietly.
+
+The table proved to be available, and ere long the two were discussing
+an excellent dinner. Gray lost much of his irritability and began to
+talk coherently upon topics of general interest. Presently, following
+an interval during which he had been covertly watching his companion:
+
+“Do you know, Seton,” he said, “you are the one man in London whose
+company I could have tolerated tonight.”
+
+“My arrival was peculiarly opportune.”
+
+“Your arrivals are always peculiarly opportune.” Gray stared at Seton
+with an expression of puzzled admiration. “I don’t think I shall ever
+understand your turning up immediately before the Senussi raid in
+Egypt. Do you remember? I was with the armored cars.”
+
+“I remember perfectly.”
+
+“Then you vanished in the same mysterious fashion, and the C. O. was a
+sphinx on the subject. I next saw you strolling out of the gate at
+Baghdad. How the devil you’d got to Baghdad, considering that you
+didn’t come with us and that you weren’t with the cavalry, heaven only
+knows!”
+
+“No,” said Seton judicially, gazing through his uplifted wine-glass;
+“when one comes to consider the matter without prejudice it is
+certainly odd. But do I know the lady to whose non-appearance I owe the
+pleasure of your company tonight?”
+
+Quentin Gray stared at him blankly.
+
+“Really, Seton, you amaze me. Did I say that I had an appointment with
+a lady?”
+
+“My dear Gray, when I see a man standing biting his nails and glaring
+out into Piccadilly from a restaurant entrance I ask myself a question.
+When I learn that he has just cancelled an order for a table for two I
+answer it.”
+
+Gray laughed. “You always make me feel so infernally young, Seton.”
+
+“Good!”
+
+“Yes, it’s good to feel young, but bad to feel a young fool; and that’s
+what I feel—and what I am. Listen!”
+
+Leaning across the table so that the light of the shaded lamp fell
+fully upon his flushed, eager face, Gray, not without embarrassment,
+told his companion of the “dirty trick”—so he phrased it—which Sir
+Lucien Pyne had played upon him. In conclusion:
+
+“What would you do, Seton?” he asked.
+
+Seton sat regarding him in silence with a cool, calculating stare which
+some men had termed insolent, absently tapping his teeth with the gold
+rim of a monocle which he carried but apparently never used for any
+other purpose; and it was at about this time that a long low car passed
+near the door of the restaurant, crossing the traffic stream of
+Piccadilly to draw up at the corner of old Bond Street.
+
+From the car Monte Irvin alighted and, telling the man to wait, set out
+on foot. Ten paces along Bond Street he encountered a small, stooping
+figure which became detached from the shadows of a shop door. The light
+of a street lamp shone down upon the sharp, hooked nose and into the
+cunning little brown eyes of Brisley, of Spinker’s Detective Agency.
+Monte Irvin started.
+
+“Ah, Brisley!” he said, “I was looking for you. Are they still there?”
+
+“Probably, sir.” Brisley licked his lips. “My colleague, Gunn, reports
+no one came out whilst I was away ’phoning.”
+
+“But the whole thing seems preposterous. Are there no other offices in
+the block where they might be?”
+
+“I personally saw Mr. Gray, Sir Lucien Pyne and the lady go into
+Kazmah’s. At that time—roughly, ten to seven—all the other offices had
+been closed, approximately, one hour.”
+
+“There is absolutely no possibility that they might have come out
+unseen by you?”
+
+“None, sir. I should not have troubled a client if in doubt. Here’s
+Gunn.”
+
+Old Bond Street now was darkened and deserted; the yellow mist had
+turned to fine rain, and Gunn, his hands thrust in his pockets, was
+sheltering under the porch of the arcade. Gunn possessed a purple
+complexion which attained to full vigor of coloring in the nasal
+region. His moustache of dirty grey was stained brown in the centre as
+if by frequent potations of stout, and his bulky figure was
+artificially enlarged by the presence of two overcoats, the outer of
+which was a waterproof and the inner a blue garment appreciably longer
+both in sleeve and skirt than the former. The effect produced was one
+of great novelty. Gunn touched the brim of his soft felt hat, which he
+wore turned down all round apparently in imitation of a flower-pot.
+
+“All snug, sir,” he said, hoarsely and confidentially, bending forward
+and breathing the words into Irvin’s ear. “Snug as a bee in a hive.
+You’re as good as a bachelor again.”
+
+Monte Irvin mentally recoiled.
+
+“Lead the way to the door of this place,” he said tersely.
+
+“Yes, sir, this way, sir. Be careful of the step there. You may remark
+that the outer door is not yet closed. I am informed upon reliable
+authority as the last to go locks the door. Hence we perceive that the
+last has not yet gone. It is likewise opened by the first to come of a
+mornin’. Here we are, sir; door on the right.”
+
+The landing was in darkness, but as Gunn spoke he directed the ray of a
+pocket lamp upon a bronze plate bearing the name “Kazmah.” He rested
+one hand upon his hip.
+
+“All snug,” he repeated; “as snug as a eel in mud. The _decree nisi_ is
+yours, sir. As an alderman of the City of London and a Justice of the
+Peace you are entitled to call a police officer—”
+
+“Hold your tongue!” rapped Irvin. “You’ve been drinking: and I place no
+reliance whatever in your evidence. I do not believe that my wife or
+any one else but ourselves is upon these premises.”
+
+The watery eyes of the insulted man protruded unnaturally. “Drinkin’!”
+he whispered, “drink—”
+
+But indignation now deprived Gunn of speech and:
+
+“Excuse me, sir,” interrupted the nasal voice of Brisley, “but I can
+absolutely answer for Gunn. Reputation of the Agency at stake. Worked
+with us for three years. Parties undoubtedly on the premises as
+reported.”
+
+“Drink—” whispered Gunn.
+
+“I shall be glad,” said Monte Irvin, and his voice shook emotionally,
+“if you will lend me your pocket lamp. I am naturally upset. Will you
+kindly both go downstairs. I will call if I want you.”
+
+The two men obeyed, Gunn muttering hoarsely to Brisley; and Monte Irvin
+was left standing on the landing, the lamp in his hand. He waited until
+he knew from the sound of their footsteps that the pair had regained
+the street, then, resting his arm against the closed door, and pressing
+his forehead to the damp sleeve of his coat, he stood awhile, the lamp,
+which he held limply, shining down upon the floor.
+
+His lips moved, and almost inaudibly he murmured his wife’s name.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+THE DOOR IS OPENED
+
+
+Quentin Gray and Seton strolled out of Prince’s and both paused whilst
+Seton lighted a long black cheroot.
+
+“It seems a pity to waste that box,” said Gray. “Suppose we look in at
+the Gaiety for an hour?”
+
+His humor was vastly improved, and he watched the passing throngs with
+an expression more suited to his boyish good looks than that of anger
+and mortification which had rested upon him an hour earlier.
+
+Seton Pasha tossed a match into the road.
+
+“My official business is finished for the day,” he replied. “I place
+myself unreservedly in your hands.”
+
+“Well, then,” began Gray—and paused.
+
+A long, low car, the chauffeur temporarily detained by the stoppage of
+a motorbus ahead, had slowed up within three yards of the spot where
+they were standing. Gray seized Seton’s arm in a fierce grip.
+
+“Seton,” he said, his voice betraying intense excitement, “Look! There
+is Monte Irvin!”
+
+“In the car?”
+
+“Yes, yes! But—he has two _police_ with him! Seton, what can it mean?”
+
+The car moved away, swinging to the right across the traffic stream and
+clearly heading for old Bond Street. Quentin Gray’s mercurial color
+deserted him, and he turned to Seton a face grown suddenly pale.
+
+“Good God,” he whispered, “something has happened to Rita!”
+
+Neglectful of his personal safety, he plunged out into the traffic,
+dodging this way and that, and making after Monte Irvin’s car. Of the
+fact that his friend was close beside him he remained unaware until, on
+the corner of old Bond Street, a firm grip settled upon his shoulder.
+Gray turned angrily. But the grip was immovable, and he found himself
+staring into the unemotional face of Seton Pasha.
+
+“Seton, for God’s sake, don’t detain me! I must learn what’s wrong.”
+
+“Pull up, Gray.”
+
+Quentin Gray clenched his teeth.
+
+“Listen to me, Seton. This is no time for interference. I—”
+
+“You are about to become involved in some very unsavory business; and I
+repeat—pull up. In a moment we shall learn all there is to be learned.
+But are you determined openly to thrust yourself into the family
+affairs of Mr. Monte Irvin?”
+
+“If anything has happened to Rita I’ll kill that damned cur Pyne!”
+
+“You are determined to intrude upon this man in your present frame of
+mind at a time of evident trouble?”
+
+But Gray was deaf to the promptings of prudence and good taste alike.
+
+“I’m going to see the thing through,” he said hoarsely.
+
+“Quite so. Rely upon me. But endeavor to behave more like a man of the
+world and less like a dangerous lunatic, or we shall quarrel
+atrociously.”
+
+Quentin Gray audibly gnashed his teeth, but the cool stare of the
+other’s eyes was quelling, and now as their glances met and clashed, a
+sympathetic smile softened the lines of Seton’s grim mouth, and:
+
+“I quite understand, old chap,” he said, linking his arm in Gray’s.
+“But can’t you see how important it is, for everybody’s sake, that we
+should tackle the thing coolly?”
+
+“Seton”—Gray’s voice broke—“I’m sorry. I know I’m mad; but I was with
+her only an hour ago, and now—”
+
+“And now ‘her’ husband appears on the scene accompanied by a police
+inspector and a sergeant. What are your relations with Mr. Monte
+Irvin?”
+
+They were walking rapidly again along Bond Street.
+
+“What do you mean, Seton?” asked Gray.
+
+“I mean does he approve of your friendship with his wife, or is it a
+clandestine affair?”
+
+“Clandestine?—certainly not. I was on my way to call at the house when
+I met her with Pyne this evening.”
+
+“That is what I wanted to know. Very well; since you intend to follow
+the thing up, it simplifies matters somewhat. Here is the car.”
+
+“At Kazmah’s door! What in heaven’s name does it mean?”
+
+“It means that we shall get a very poor reception if we intrude.
+Question the chauffeur.”
+
+But Gray had already approached the man, who touched his cap in
+recognition.
+
+“What’s the trouble, Pattison?” he demanded breathlessly. “I saw police
+in the car a moment ago.”
+
+“Yes, sir. I don’t rightly know, sir, what’s happened. But Mr. Irvin
+drove from home to the corner of old Bond Street a quarter of an hour
+ago and told me to wait, then came back again and drove round to Vine
+Street to fetch the police. They’re inside now.”
+
+Even as he spoke, with excitement ill-concealed, a police-sergeant came
+out of the doorway, and:
+
+“Move on, there,” he said to Seton and Gray. “You mustn’t hang about
+this door.”
+
+“Excuse me, Sergeant,” cried Gray, “but if the matter concerns Mrs.
+Monte Irvin I can probably supply information.”
+
+The Sergeant stared at him hard, saw that both he and his friend wore
+evening dress, and grew proportionately respectful.
+
+“What is your name, sir?” he asked. “I’ll mention it to the officer in
+charge.”
+
+“Quentin Gray. Inform Mr. Monte Irvin that I wish to speak to him.”
+
+“Very good, sir.” He turned to the chauffeur. “Hand me out the bag I
+gave you at Vine Street.” Pattison leaned over the door at the front of
+the car, and brought out a big leather grip. With this in hand the
+police-sergeant returned into the doorway.
+
+“We’re in for it now,” said Seton grimly, “whatever it is.”
+
+Gray returned no answer, moving restlessly up and down before the door
+in a fever of excitement and dread. Presently the Sergeant reappeared.
+
+“Step this way, please,” he said.
+
+Followed by Seton and Gray he led the way up to the landing before
+Kazmah’s apartments. It was vaguely lighted by two police-lanterns.
+Four men were standing there, and four pairs of eyes were focussed upon
+the stair-head.
+
+Monte Irvin, his features a distressing ashen color, spoke.
+
+“That you, Gray?” Quentin Gray would not have recognized the voice.
+“Thanks for offering your help. God knows I need all I can get. You
+were with Rita tonight. What happened? Where is she?”
+
+“Heaven knows where she is!” cried Gray. “I left her here with Pyne
+shortly after seven o’clock.”
+
+He paused, fixing his gaze upon the face of Brisley, whose shifty eyes
+avoided him and who was licking his lips in the manner of a dog who has
+seen the whip.
+
+“Why,” said Gray, “I believe you are the fellow who has been following
+me all night for some reason.”
+
+He stepped toward the foxy little man but:
+
+“Never mind, Gray,” interrupted Irvin. “I was to blame. But he was
+following my wife, not you. Tell me quickly: Why did she come here?”
+
+Gray raised his hand to his brow with a gesture of bewilderment.
+
+“To consult this man, Kazmah. I actually saw her enter the inner room,
+I went to get a cab, and when I returned the door was locked.”
+
+“You knocked?”
+
+“Of course. I made no end of a row. But I could get no reply and went
+away.”
+
+Monte Irvin turned, a pathetic figure, to the Inspector who stood
+beside him.
+
+“We may as well proceed, Inspector Whiteleaf,” he said. “Mr. Gray’s
+evidence throws no light on the matter at all.”
+
+“Very well, sir,” was the reply; “we have the warrant, and have given
+the usual notice to whoever may be hiding inside. Burton!”
+
+The Sergeant stepped forward, placed the leather bag on the floor, and
+stooping, opened it, revealing a number of burglarious-looking
+instruments.
+
+“Shall I try to cut through the panel?” he asked.
+
+“No, no!” cried Monte Irvin. “Waste no time. You have a crowbar there.
+Force the door from its hinges. Hurry, man!”
+
+“It doesn’t work on hinges!” Gray interrupted excitedly. “It slides to
+the right by means of some arrangement concealed under the mat.”
+
+“Pass that lantern,” directed Burton, glancing over his shoulder to
+Gunn.
+
+Setting it beside him, the Sergeant knelt and examined the threshold of
+the door.
+
+“A metal plate,” he said. “The weight moves a lever, I suppose, which
+opens the door if it isn’t locked. The lock will be on the left of the
+door as it opens to the right. Let’s see what we can do.”
+
+He stood up, crowbar in hand, and inserted the chisel blade of the
+implement between the edge of the door and the doorcase.
+
+“Hold steady!” said the Inspector, standing at his elbow.
+
+The dull metallic sound of hammer blows on steel echoed queerly around
+the well of the staircase. Brisley and Gunn, standing very close
+together on the bottom step of the stair to the third floor, watched
+the police furtively. Irvin and Gray found a common fascination in the
+door itself, and Seton, cheroot in mouth, looked from group to group
+with quiet interest.
+
+“Right!” cried the Sergeant.
+
+The blows ceased.
+
+Firmly grasping the bar, Burton brought all his weight to bear upon it.
+There was a dull, cracking sound and a sort of rasping. The door moved
+slightly.
+
+“There’s where it locks!” said the Inspector, directing the light of a
+lantern upon the crevice created. “Three inches lower. But it may be
+bolted as well.”
+
+“We’ll soon get at the bolts,” replied Burton, the lust of destruction
+now strong upon him.
+
+Wrenching the crowbar from its place he attacked the lower panel of the
+door, and amid a loud splintering and crashing created a hole big
+enough to allow of the passage of a hand and arm.
+
+The Inspector reached in, groped about, and then uttered an exclamation
+of triumph.
+
+“I’ve unfastened the bolt,” he said. “If there isn’t another at the top
+you ought to be able to force the door now, Burton.”
+
+The jimmy was thrust back into position, and:
+
+“Stand clear!” cried Burton.
+
+Again he threw his weight upon the bar—and again.
+
+“Drive it further in!” said Monte Irvin; and snatching up the heavy
+hammer, he rained blows upon the steel butt. “Now try.”
+
+Burton exerted himself to the utmost.
+
+“Take hold up here, someone!” he panted. “Two of us can pull.”
+
+Gray leapt forward, and the pair of them bent to the task.
+
+There came a dull report of parting mechanism, more sounds of
+splintering wood... and the door rolled open!
+
+A moment of tense silence, then:
+
+“Is anyone inside there?” cried the Inspector loudly.
+
+Not a sound came from the dark interior.
+
+“The lantern!” whispered Monte Irvin.
+
+He stumbled into the room, from which a heavy smell of perfume swept
+out upon the landing. Quentin Gray, snatching the lantern from the
+floor, where it had been replaced, was the next to enter.
+
+“Look for the switch, and turn the lights on!” called the Inspector,
+following.
+
+Even as he spoke, Gray had found the switch, and the apartment of
+Kazmah became flooded with subdued light.
+
+A glance showed it to be unoccupied.
+
+Gray ran across to the _mushrabîyeh_ cabinet and jerked the curtains
+aside. There was no one in the cabinet. It contained a chair and a
+table. Upon the latter was a telephone and some papers and books. “This
+way!” he cried, his voice high pitched and unnatural.
+
+He burst through the doorway into the inner room which he had seen Mrs.
+Irvin enter. The air was laden with the smell of frankincense.
+
+“A lantern!” he called. “I left one on the divan.”
+
+But Monte Irvin had caught it up and was already at his elbow. His hand
+was shaking so that the light danced wildly now upon the carpet, now
+upon the green walls. This room also was deserted. A black gap in the
+curtain showed where the material had been roughly torn. Suddenly:
+
+“My God, look!” muttered the Inspector, who, with the others, now stood
+in the curious draped apartment.
+
+A thin stream of blood was trickling out from beneath the torn
+hangings!
+
+Monte Irvin staggered and fell back against the Inspector, clutching at
+him for support. But Sergeant Burton, who carried the second lantern,
+crossed the room and wrenched the green draperies bodily from their
+fastenings.
+
+They had masked a wooden partition or stout screen, having an aperture
+in the centre which could be closed by means of another of the sliding
+doors. A space some five feet deep was thus walled off from this second
+room. It contained a massive ebony chair. Behind the chair, and
+dividing the second room into yet a third section, extended another
+wooden partition in one end of which was an ordinary office door; and
+immediately at the back of the chair appeared a little opening or
+window, some three feet up from the floor. The sound of a groan,
+followed by that of a dull thud, came from the outer room.
+
+“Hullo!” cried Inspector Whiteleaf. “Mr. Irvin has fainted. Lend a
+hand.”
+
+“I am here,” replied the quiet voice of Seton Pasha.
+
+“My God!” whispered Gray. “Seton! Seton!”
+
+“Touch nothing,” cried the Inspector from outside, “until I come!”
+
+And now the narrow apartment became filled with all the awe-stricken
+company, only excepting Monte Irvin, and Brisley, who was attending to
+the swooning man.
+
+Flat upon the floor, between the door and the ebony chair, arms
+extended and eyes staring upward at the ceiling, lay Sir Lucien Pyne,
+his white shirt front redly dyed. In the hush which had fallen, the
+footsteps of Inspector Whiteleaf sounded loudly as he opened the final
+door, and swept the interior of an inner room with the rays of the
+lantern.
+
+The room was barely furnished as an office. There was another
+half-glazed door opening on to a narrow corridor. This door was locked.
+
+“_Pyne!_” whispered Gray, pale now to the lips. “Do you understand,
+Seton? It’s Pyne! Look! He has been stabbed!”
+
+Sergeant Burton knelt down and gingerly laid his hand upon the stained
+linen over the breast of Sir Lucien.
+
+“Dead?” asked the Inspector, speaking from the inner doorway.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“You say, sir,” turning to Quentin Gray, “that this is Sir Lucien
+Pyne?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+Inspector Whiteleaf rather clumsily removed his cap. The odor of
+Seton’s cheroot announced itself above the oriental perfume with which
+the place was laden.
+
+“Burton!”
+
+“Yes?”
+
+“See if this telephone in the office is in order. It appears to be an
+extension from the outer room.”
+
+While the others stood grouped about that still figure on the floor,
+Sergeant Burton entered the little office.
+
+“Hello!” he cried. “Yes?” A momentary interval, then: “It’s all right,
+sir. What number?”
+
+“Gentlemen,” said the Inspector, firmly and authoritatively, “I am
+about to telephone to Vine Street for instructions. No one will leave
+the premises.”
+
+Amid an intense hush:
+
+“Regent 201,” called Sergeant Burton.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+RED KERRY
+
+
+Chief Inspector Kerry, of the Criminal Investigation Department, stood
+before the empty grate of his cheerless office in New Scotland Yard,
+one hand thrust into the pocket of his blue reefer jacket and the other
+twirling a malacca cane, which was heavily silver-mounted and which
+must have excited the envy of every sergeant-major beholding it. Chief
+Inspector Kerry wore a very narrow-brimmed bowler hat, having two
+ventilation holes conspicuously placed immediately above the band. He
+wore this hat tilted forward and to the right.
+
+“Red Kerry” wholly merited his sobriquet, for the man was as red as
+fire. His hair, which he wore cropped close as a pugilist’s, was
+brilliantly red, and so was his short, wiry, aggressive moustache. His
+complexion was red, and from beneath his straight red eyebrows he
+surveyed the world with a pair of unblinking, intolerant steel-blue
+eyes. He never smoked in public, as his taste inclined towards Irish
+twist and a short clay pipe; but he was addicted to the use of
+chewing-gum, and as he chewed—and he chewed incessantly—he revealed a
+perfect row of large, white, and positively savage-looking teeth. High
+cheek bones and prominent maxillary muscles enhanced the truculence
+indicated by his chin.
+
+But, next to this truculence, which was the first and most alarming
+trait to intrude itself upon the observer’s attention, the outstanding
+characteristic of Chief Inspector Kerry was his compact neatness. Of no
+more than medium height but with shoulders like an acrobat, he had
+slim, straight legs and the feet of a dancing master. His attire, from
+the square-pointed collar down to the neat black brogues, was spotless.
+His reefer jacket fitted him faultlessly, but his trousers were cut so
+unfashionably narrow that the protuberant thigh muscles and the line of
+a highly developed calf could quite easily be discerned. The hand
+twirling the cane was small but also muscular, freckled and covered
+with light down. Red Kerry was built on the lines of a whippet, but
+carried the equipment of an Irish terrier.
+
+The telephone bell rang. Inspector Kerry moved his square shoulders in
+a manner oddly suggestive of a wrestler, laid the malacca cane on the
+mantleshelf, and crossed to the table. Taking up the telephone:
+
+“Yes?” he said, and his voice was high-pitched and imperious.
+
+He listened for a moment.
+
+“Very good, sir.”
+
+He replaced the receiver, took up a wet oilskin overall from the back
+of a chair and the cane from the mantleshelf. Then rolling chewing-gum
+from one corner of his mouth into the other, he snapped off the
+electric light and walked from the room.
+
+Along the corridor he went with a lithe, silent step, moving from the
+hips and swinging his shoulders. Before a door marked “Private” he
+paused. From his waistcoat pocket he took a little silver convex mirror
+and surveyed himself critically therein. He adjusted his neat tie,
+replaced the mirror, knocked at the door and entered the room of the
+Assistant Commissioner.
+
+This important official was a man constructed on huge principles, a man
+of military bearing, having tired eyes and a bewildered manner. He
+conveyed the impression that the collection of documents, books,
+telephones, and other paraphernalia bestrewing his table had reduced
+him to a state of stupor. He looked up wearily and met the fierce gaze
+of the chief inspector with a glance almost apologetic.
+
+“Ah, Chief Inspector Kerry?” he said, with vague surprise. “Yes. I told
+you to come. Really, I ought to have been at home hours ago. It’s most
+unfortunate. I have to do the work of three men. This _is_ your
+department, is it not, Chief Inspector?”
+
+He handed Kerry a slip of paper, at which the Chief Inspector stared
+fiercely.
+
+“Murder!” rapped Kerry. “Sir Lucien Pyne. Yes, sir, I am still on
+duty.”
+
+His speech, in moments of interest, must have suggested to one
+overhearing him from an adjoining room, for instance, the operation of
+a telegraphic instrument. He gave to every syllable the value of a rap
+and certain words he terminated with an audible snap of his teeth.
+
+“Ah,” murmured the Assistant Commissioner. “Yes. Divisional
+Inspector—Somebody (I cannot read the name) has detained all the
+parties. But you had better report at Vine Street. It appears to be a
+big case.”
+
+He sighed wearily.
+
+“Very good, sir. With your permission I will glance at Sir Lucien’s
+pedigree.”
+
+“Certainly—certainly,” said the Assistant Commissioner, waving one
+large hand in the direction of a bookshelf.
+
+Kerry crossed the room, laid his oilskin and cane upon a chair, and
+from the shelf where it reposed took a squat volume. The Assistant
+Commissioner, hand pressed to brow, began to study a document which lay
+before him.
+
+“Here we are,” said Kerry, _sotto voce_. “Pyne, Sir Lucien St. Aubyn,
+fourth baronet, son of General Sir Christian Pyne, K.C.B. H’m! Born
+Malta.... Oriel College; first in classics.... H’m. Blue.... India,
+Burma.... Contested Wigan.... attached British Legation. ... H’m!...”
+
+He returned the book to its place, took up his overall and cane, and:
+
+“Very good, sir,” he said. “I will proceed to Vine Street.”
+
+“Certainly—certainly,” murmured the Assistant Commissioner, glancing up
+absently. “Good night.”
+
+“Good night, sir.”
+
+“Oh, Chief Inspector!”
+
+Kerry turned, his hand on the door-knob.
+
+“Sir?”
+
+“I—er—what was I going to say? Oh, yes! The social importance of the
+murdered man raises the case from the—er—you follow me? Public interest
+will become acute, no doubt. I have therefore selected you for your
+well known discretion. I met Sir Lucien once. Very sad. Good night.”
+
+“Good night, sir.”
+
+Kerry passed out into the corridor, closing the door quietly. The
+Assistant Commissioner was a man for whom he entertained the highest
+respect. Despite the bewildered air and wandering manner, he knew this
+big, tired-looking soldier for an administrator of infinite capacity
+and inexhaustive energy.
+
+Proceeding to a room further along the corridor, Chief Inspector Kerry
+opened the door and looked in.
+
+“Detective-Sergeant Coombes.” he snapped, and rolled chewing-gum from
+side to side of his mouth.
+
+Detective-Sergeant Coombes, a plump, short man having lank black hair
+and a smile of sly contentment perpetually adorning his round face,
+rose hurriedly from the chair upon which he had been seated. Another
+man who was in the room rose also, as if galvanized by the glare of the
+fierce blue eyes.
+
+“I’m going to Vine Street,” said Kerry succinctly; “you’re coming with
+me,” turned, and went on his way.
+
+Two taxicabs were standing in the yard, and into the first of these
+Inspector Kerry stepped, followed by Coombes, the latter breathing
+heavily and carrying his hat in his hand, since he had not yet found
+time to put it on.
+
+“Vine Street,” shouted Kerry. “Brisk.”
+
+He leaned back in the cab, chewing industriously. Coombes, having
+somewhat recovered his breath, essayed speech.
+
+“Is it something big?” he asked.
+
+“Sure,” snapped Kerry. “Do they send _me_ to stop dog-fights?”
+
+Knowing the man and recognizing the mood, Coombes became silent, and
+this silence he did not break all the way to Vine Street. At the
+station:
+
+“Wait,” said Chief Inspector Kerry, and went swinging in, carrying his
+overall and having the malacca cane tucked under his arm.
+
+A few minutes later he came out again and reentered the cab.
+
+“Piccadilly corner of Old Bond Street,” he directed the man.
+
+“Is it burglary?” asked Detective-Sergeant Coombes with interest.
+
+“No,” said Kerry. “It’s murder; and there seems to be stacks of
+evidence. Sharpen your pencil.”
+
+“Oh!” murmured Coombes.
+
+They were almost immediately at their destination, and Chief Inspector
+Kerry, dismissing the cabman, set off along Bond Street with his lithe,
+swinging gait, looking all about him intently. Rain had ceased, but the
+air was damp and chilly, and few pedestrians were to be seen.
+
+A car was standing before Kazmah’s premises, the chauffeur walking up
+and down on the pavement and flapping his hands across his chest in
+order to restore circulation. The Chief Inspector stopped, “Hi, my
+man!” he said.
+
+The chauffeur stood still.
+
+“Whose car?”
+
+“Mr. Monte Irvin’s.”
+
+Kerry turned on his heel and stepped to the office door. It was ajar,
+and Kerry, taking an electric torch from his overall pocket, flashed
+the light upon the name-plate. He stood for a moment, chewing and
+looking up the darkened stairs. Then, torch in hand he ascended.
+
+Kazmah’s door was closed, and the Chief Inspector rapped loudly. It was
+opened at once by Sergeant Burton, and Kerry entered, followed by
+Coombes.
+
+The room at first sight seemed to be extremely crowded. Monte Irvin,
+very pale and haggard, sat upon the divan beside Quentin Gray. Seton
+was standing near the cabinet, smoking. These three had evidently been
+conversing at the time of the detective’s arrival with an
+alert-looking, clean-shaven man whose bag, umbrella, and silk hat stood
+upon one of the little inlaid tables. Just inside the second door were
+Brisley and Gunn, both palpably ill at ease, and glancing at Inspector
+Whiteleaf, who had been interrogating them.
+
+Kerry chewed silently for a moment, bestowing a fierce stare upon each
+face in turn, then:
+
+“Who’s in charge?” he snapped.
+
+“I am,” replied Whiteleaf.
+
+“Why is the lower door open?”
+
+“I thought—”
+
+“Don’t think. Shut the door. Post your Sergeant inside. No one is to go
+out. Grab anybody who comes in. Where’s the body?”
+
+“This way,” said Inspector Whiteleaf hurriedly; then, over his
+shoulder: “Go down to the door, Burton.”
+
+He led Kerry towards the inner room, Coombes at his heels. Brisley and
+Gunn stood aside to give them passage; Gray and Monte Irvin prepared to
+follow. At the doorway Kerry turned.
+
+“You will all be good enough to stay where you are,” he said. He
+directed the aggressive stare in Seton’s direction. “And if the
+gentleman smoking a cheroot is not satisfied that he has quite
+destroyed any clue perceptible by the sense of smell I should be glad
+to send out for some fireworks.”
+
+He tossed his oilskin and his cane on the divan and went into the room
+of seance, savagely biting at a piece of apparently indestructible
+chewing-gum.
+
+The torn green curtain had been laid aside and the electric lights
+turned on in the inside rooms. Pallid, Sir Lucien Pyne lay by the ebony
+chair glaring horribly upward.
+
+Always with the keen eyes glancing this way and that, Inspector Kerry
+crossed the little audience room and entered the enclosure contained
+between the two screens. By the side of the dead man he stood, looking
+down silently. Then he dropped upon one knee and peered closely into
+the white face. He looked up.
+
+“He has not been moved?”
+
+“No.”
+
+Kerry bent yet lower, staring closely at a discolored abrasion on Sir
+Lucien’s forehead. His glance wandered from thence to the carved ebony
+chair. Still kneeling, he drew from his waistcoat pocket a powerful
+lens contained in a washleather bag. He began to examine the back and
+sides of the chair. Once he laid his finger lightly on a protruding
+point of the carving, and then scrutinised his finger through the
+glass. He examined the dead man’s hands, his nails, his garments. Then
+he crawled about, peering closely at the carpet.
+
+He stood up suddenly. “The doctor,” he snapped.
+
+Inspector Whiteleaf retired, but returned immediately with the
+clean-shaven man to whom Monte Irvin had been talking when Kerry
+arrived.
+
+“Good evening, doctor,” said Kerry. “Do I know your name? Start your
+notes, Coombes.”
+
+“My name is Dr. Wilbur Weston, and I live in Albemarle Street.”
+
+“Who called you?”
+
+“Inspector Whiteleaf telephoned to me about half an hour ago.”
+
+“You examined the dead man?”
+
+“I did.”
+
+“You avoided moving him?”
+
+“It was unnecessary to move him. He was dead, and the wound was in the
+left shoulder. I pulled his coat open and unbuttoned his shirt. That
+was all.”
+
+“How long dead?”
+
+“I should say he had been dead not more than an hour when I saw him.”
+
+“What had caused death?”
+
+“The stab of some long, narrow-bladed weapon, such as a stiletto.”
+
+“Why a stiletto?” Kerry’s fierce eyes challenged him. “Did you ever see
+a wound made by a stiletto?”
+
+“Several—in Italy, and one at Saffron Hill. They are characterised by
+very little external bleeding.”
+
+“Right, doctor. It had reached his heart?”
+
+“Yes. The blow was delivered from behind.”
+
+“How do you know?”
+
+“The direction of the wound is forward. I have seen an almost identical
+wound in the case of an Italian woman stabbed by a jealous rival.”
+
+“He would fall on his back.”
+
+“Oh, no. He would fall on his face, almost certainly.”
+
+“But he lies on his back.”
+
+“In my opinion he had been moved.”
+
+“Right. I know he had. Good night, doctor. See him out, Inspector.”
+
+Dr. Weston seemed rather startled by this abrupt dismissal, but the
+steel-blue eyes of Inspector Kerry were already bent again upon the
+dead man, and, murmuring “good night,” the doctor took his departure,
+followed by Whiteleaf.
+
+“Shut this door,” snapped Kerry after the Inspector. “I will call when
+I want you. You stay, Coombes. Got it all down?”
+
+Sergeant Coombes scratched his head with the end of a pencil, and:
+
+“Yes,” he said, with hesitancy. “That is, except the word after
+‘narrow-bladed weapon such as a’ I’ve got what looks like
+‘steelhatto.’”
+
+Kerry glared.
+
+“Try taking the cotton-wool out of your ears,” he suggested. “The word
+was stiletto, s-t-i-l-e-t-t-o—stiletto.”
+
+“Oh,” said Coombes, “thanks.”
+
+Silence fell between the two men from Scotland Yard. Kerry stood
+awhile, chewing and staring at the ghastly face of Sir Lucien. Then:
+
+“Go through all pockets,” he directed.
+
+Sergeant Coombes placed his notebook and pencil upon the seat of the
+chair and set to work. Kerry entered the inside room or office. It
+contained a writing-table (upon which was a telephone and a pile of old
+newspapers), a cabinet, and two chairs. Upon one of the chairs lay a
+crush-hat, a cane, and an overcoat. He glanced at some of the
+newspapers, then opened the drawers of the writing-table. They were
+empty. The cabinet proved to be locked, and a door which he saw must
+open upon a narrow passage running beside the suite of rooms was locked
+also. There was nothing in the pockets of the overcoat, but inside the
+hat he found pasted the initials L. P. He rolled chewing-gum, stared
+reflectively at the little window immediately above the table, through
+which a glimpse might be obtained of the ebony chair, and went out
+again.
+
+“Nothing,” reported Coombes.
+
+“What do you mean—nothing?”
+
+“His pockets are empty!”
+
+“All of them?”
+
+“Every one.”
+
+“Good,” said Kerry. “Make a note of it. He wears a real pearl stud and
+a good signet ring; also a gold wrist watch, face broken and hands
+stopped at seven-fifteen. That was the time he died. He was stabbed
+from behind as he stood where I’m standing now, fell forward, struck
+his head on the leg of the chair, and lay face downwards.”
+
+“I’ve got that,” muttered Coombes. “What stopped the watch?”
+
+“Broken as he fell. There are tiny fragments of glass stuck in the
+carpet, showing the exact position in which his body originally lay;
+and for God’s sake stop smiling.”
+
+Kerry threw open the door.
+
+“Who first found the body?” he demanded of the silent company.
+
+“I did,” cried Quentin Gray, coming forward. “I and Seton Pasha.”
+
+“Seton Pasha!” Kerry’s teeth snapped together, so that he seemed to
+bite off the words. “I don’t see a Turk present.”
+
+Seton smiled quietly.
+
+“My friend uses a title which was conferred upon me some years ago by
+the ex-Khedive,” he said. “My name is Greville Seton.”
+
+Inspector Kerry glanced back across his shoulder.
+
+“Notes,” he said. “Unlock your ears, Coombes.” He looked at Gray. “What
+is your name?”
+
+“Quentin Gray.”
+
+“Who are you, and in what way are you concerned in this case?”
+
+“I am the son of Lord Wrexborough, and I—”
+
+He paused, glancing helplessly at Seton. He had recognized that the
+first mention of Rita Irvin’s name in the police evidence must be made
+by himself.
+
+“Speak up, sir,” snapped Kerry. “Sergeant Coombes is deaf.”
+
+Gray’s face flushed, and his eyes gleamed angrily.
+
+“I should be glad, Inspector,” he said, “if you would remember that the
+dead man was a personal acquaintance and that other friends are
+concerned in this ghastly affair.”
+
+“Coombes will remember it,” replied Kerry frigidly. “He’s taking
+notes.”
+
+“Look here—” began Gray.
+
+Seton laid his hand upon the angry man’s shoulder.
+
+“Pull up, Gray,” he said quietly. “Pull up, old chap.” He turned his
+cool regard upon Chief Inspector Kerry, twirling the cord of his
+monocle about one finger. “I may remark, Inspector Kerry—for I
+understand this to be your name—that your conduct of the inquiry is not
+always characterised by the best possible taste.”
+
+Kerry rolled chewing-gum, meeting Seton’s gaze with a stare intolerant
+and aggressive. He imparted that odd writhing movement to his
+shoulders.
+
+“For my conduct I am responsible to the Commissioner,” he replied. “And
+if he’s not satisfied the Commissioner can have my written resignation
+at any hour in the twenty-four that he’s short of a pipe-lighter. If it
+would not inconvenience you to keep quiet for two minutes I will
+continue my examination of this witness.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+FURTHER EVIDENCE
+
+
+The examination of Quentin Gray was three times interrupted by
+telephone messages from Vine Street; and to the unsatisfactory
+character of these the growing irascibility of Chief Inspector Kerry
+bore testimony. Then the divisional surgeon arrived, and Burton
+incurred the wrath of the Chief Inspector by deserting his post to show
+the doctor upstairs.
+
+“If inspired idiocy can help the law,” shouted Kerry, “the man who did
+this job is as good as dead!” He turned his fierce gaze in Gray’s
+direction. “Thank you, sir. I need trouble you no further.”
+
+“Do you wish me to remain?”
+
+“No. Inspector Whiteleaf, see these two gentlemen past the Sergeant on
+duty.”
+
+“But damn it all!” cried Gray, his pent-up emotions at last demanding
+an outlet, “I won’t submit to your infernal dragooning! Do you realize
+that while you’re standing here, doing nothing—absolutely nothing—an
+unhappy woman is—”
+
+“I realize,” snapped Kerry, showing his teeth in canine fashion, “that
+if you’re not outside in ten seconds there’s going to be a cloud of
+dust on the stairs!”
+
+White with passion, Gray was on the point of uttering other angry and
+provocative words when Seton took his arm in a firm grip. “Gray!” he
+said sharply. “You leave with me now or I leave alone.”
+
+The two walked from the room, followed by Whiteleaf. As they
+disappeared:
+
+“Read out all the _times_ mentioned in the last witness’s evidence,”
+directed Kerry, undisturbed by the rencontre.
+
+Sergeant Coombes smiled rather uneasily, consulting his notebook.
+
+“‘At about half-past six I drove to Bond Street,’” he began.
+
+“I said the _times_,” rapped Kerry. “I know to what they refer. Just
+give me the times as mentioned.”
+
+“Oh,” murmured Coombes, “Yes. ‘About half-past six.’” He ran his finger
+down the page. “‘A quarter to seven.’ ‘Seven o’clock.’ ‘Twenty-five
+minutes past seven.’ ‘Eight o’clock.’”
+
+“Stop!” said Kerry. “That’s enough.” He fixed a baleful glance upon
+Gunn, who from a point of the room discreetly distant from the terrible
+red man was watching with watery eyes. “Who’s the smart in all the
+overcoats?” he demanded.
+
+“My name is James Gunn,” replied this greatly insulted man in a husky
+voice.
+
+“Who are you? What are you? What are you doing here?”
+
+“I’m employed by Spinker’s Agency, and—”
+
+“Oh!” shouted Kerry, moving his shoulders. He approached the speaker
+and glared menacingly into his purple face. “Ho, ho! So you’re one of
+the queer birds out of that roost, are you? Spinker’s Agency! Ah, yes!”
+He fixed his gaze now upon the pale features of Brisley. “I’ve seen you
+before, haven’t I?”
+
+“Yes, Chief Inspector,” said Brisley, licking his lips. “Hayward’s
+Heath. We have been retained by—”
+
+“_You_ have been retained!” shouted Kerry. “_You_ have!”
+
+He twisted round upon his heel, facing Monte Irvin. Angry words
+trembled on his tongue. But at sight of the broken man who sat there
+alone, haggard, a subtle change of expression crept into his fierce
+eyes, and when he spoke again the high-pitched voice was almost gentle.
+“You had employed these men, sir, to watch—”
+
+He paused, glancing towards Whiteleaf, who had just entered again, and
+then in the direction of the inner room where the divisional surgeon
+was at work.
+
+“To watch my wife, Inspector. Thank you, but all the world will know
+tomorrow. I might as well get used to it.”
+
+Monte Irvin’s pallor grew positively alarming. He swayed suddenly and
+extended his hands in a significant groping fashion. Kerry sprang
+forward and supported him.
+
+“All right, Inspector—all right,” muttered Irvin. “Thank you. It has
+been a great shock. At first I feared—”
+
+“You thought your wife had been attacked, I understand? Well—it’s not
+so bad as that, sir. I am going to walk downstairs to the car with
+you.”
+
+“But there is so much you will want to know—”
+
+“It can keep until tomorrow. I’ve enough work in this peep-show here to
+have me busy all night. Come along. Lean on my arm.”
+
+Monte Irvin rose unsteadily. He knew that there was cardiac trouble in
+his family, but he had never realized before the meaning of his
+heritage. He felt physically ill.
+
+“Inspector”—his voice was a mere whisper—“have you any theory to
+explain—”
+
+“Mrs. Irvin’s disappearance? Don’t worry, sir. Without exactly having a
+theory I think I may say that in my opinion she will turn up
+presently.”
+
+“God bless you,” murmured Irvin, as Kerry assisted him out on to the
+landing.
+
+Inspector Whiteleaf held back the sliding door, the mechanism of which
+had been broken so that the door now automatically remained half
+closed.
+
+“Funny, isn’t it,” said Gunn, as the two disappeared and Inspector
+Whiteleaf re-entered, “that a man should be so upset about the
+disappearance of a woman he was going to divorce?”
+
+“Damn funny!” said Whiteleaf, whose temper was badly frayed by contact
+with Kerry. “I should have a good laugh if I were you.”
+
+He crossed the room, going in to where the surgeon was examining the
+victim of this mysterious crime. Gunn stared after him dismally.
+
+“A person doesn’t get much sympathy from the police, Brisley,” he
+declared. “That one’s almost as bad as _him_,” jerking his thumb in the
+direction of the landing.
+
+Brisley smiled in a somewhat sickly manner.
+
+“Red Kerry is a holy terror,” he agreed, _sotto voce_, glancing aside
+to where Coombes was checking his notes. “Look out! Here he comes.”
+
+“Now,” cried Kerry, swinging into the room, “what’s the game? Plotting
+to defeat the ends of justice?”
+
+He stood with hands thrust in reefer pockets, feet wide apart, glancing
+fiercely from Brisley to Gunn, and from Gunn back again to Brisley.
+Neither of the representatives of Spinker’s Agency ventured any remark,
+and:
+
+“How long have you been watching Mrs. Monte Irvin?” demanded Kerry.
+
+“Nearly a fortnight,” replied Brisley.
+
+“Got your evidence in writing?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Up to tonight?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Dictate to Sergeant Coombes.”
+
+He turned on his heel and crossed to the divan upon which his oilskin
+overall was lying. Rapidly he removed his reefer and his waistcoat,
+folded them, and placed them neatly beside his overall. He retained his
+bowler at its jaunty angle.
+
+A cud of presumably flavorless chewing-gum he deposited in a brass
+bowl, and from a little packet which he had taken out of his jacket
+pocket he drew a fresh piece, redolent of mint. This he put into his
+mouth, and returned the packet to its resting-place. A slim, trim
+figure, he stood looking round him reflectively.
+
+“Now,” he muttered, “what about it?”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+KERRY CONSULTS THE ORACLE
+
+
+The clock of Brixton Town Hall was striking the hour of 1 a.m. as Chief
+Inspector Kerry inserted his key in the lock of the door of his house
+in Spenser Road.
+
+A light was burning in the hallway, and from the little dining-room on
+the left the reflection of a cheerful fire danced upon the white paint
+of the half-open door. Kerry deposited his hat, cane, and overall upon
+the rack, and moving very quietly entered the room and turned on the
+light. A modestly furnished and scrupulously neat apartment was
+revealed. On the sheepskin rug before the fire a Manx cat was dozing
+beside a pair of carpet slippers. On the table some kind of cold repast
+was laid, the viands concealed under china covers. At a large bottle of
+Guinness’s Extra Stout Kerry looked with particular appreciation.
+
+He heaved a long sigh of contentment, and opened the bottle of stout.
+Having poured out a glass of the black and foaming liquid and satisfied
+an evidently urgent thirst, he explored beneath the covers, and
+presently was seated before a spread of ham and tongue, tomatoes, and
+bread and butter.
+
+A door opened somewhere upstairs, and:
+
+“Is that yoursel’, Dan?” inquired a deep but musical female voice.
+
+“Sure it is,” replied Kerry; and no one who had heard the high official
+tones of the imperious Chief Inspector would have supposed that they
+could be so softened and modulated. “You should have been asleep hours
+ago, Mary.”
+
+“Have ye to go out again?”
+
+“I have, bad luck; but don’t trouble to come down. I’ve all I want and
+more.”
+
+“If ’tis a new case I’ll come down.”
+
+“It’s the devil’s own case; but you’ll get your death of cold.”
+
+Sounds of movement in the room above followed, and presently footsteps
+on the stairs. Mrs. Kerry, enveloped in a woollen dressing-gown, which
+obviously belonged to the Inspector, came into the room. Upon her Kerry
+directed a look from which all fierceness had been effaced, and which
+expressed only an undying admiration. And, indeed, Mary Kerry was in
+many respects a remarkable character. Half an inch taller than Kerry,
+she fully merited the compliment designed by that trite apothegm, “a
+fine woman.” Large-boned but shapely, as she came in with her long dark
+hair neatly plaited, it seemed to her husband—who had remained her
+lover—that he saw before him the rosy-cheeked lass whom ten years
+before he had met and claimed on the chilly shores of Loch Broom. By
+all her neighbors Mrs. Kerry was looked upon as a proud, reserved
+person, who had held herself much aloof since her husband had become
+Chief Inspector; and the reputation enjoyed by Red Kerry was that of an
+aggressive and uncompanionable man. Now here was a lover’s meeting, not
+lacking the shy, downward glance of dark eyes as steel-blue eyes
+flashed frank admiration.
+
+Kerry, who quarrelled with everybody except the Assistant Commissioner,
+had only found one cause of quarrel with Mary. He was a devout Roman
+Catholic, and for five years he had clung with the bull-dog tenacity
+which was his to the belief that he could convert his wife to the faith
+of Rome. She remained true to the Scottish Free Church, in whose
+precepts she had been reared, and at the end of the five years Kerry
+gave it up and admired her all the more for her Caledonian strength of
+mind. Many and heated were the debates he had held with worthy Father
+O’Callaghan respecting the validity of a marriage not solemnized by a
+priest, but of late years he had grown reconciled to the parting of the
+ways on Sunday morning; and as the early mass was over before the
+Scottish service he was regularly to be seen outside a certain
+Presbyterian chapel waiting for his heretical spouse.
+
+He pulled her down on to his knee and kissed her.
+
+“It’s twelve hours since I saw you,” he said.
+
+She rested her arm on the back of the saddle-back chair, and her dark
+head close beside Kerry’s fiery red one.
+
+“I kenned ye had a new case on,” she said, “when it grew so late. How
+long can ye stay?”
+
+“An hour. No more. There’s a lot to do before the papers come out in
+the morning. By breakfast time all England, including the murderer,
+will know I’m in charge of the case. I wish I could muzzle the Press.”
+
+“’Tis a murder, then? The Lord gi’e us grace. Ye’ll be wishin’ to tell
+me?”
+
+“Yes. I’m stumped!”
+
+“Ye’ve time for a rest an’ a smoke. Put ye’re slippers on.”
+
+“I’ve no time for that, Mary.”
+
+She stood up and took the slippers from the hearth.
+
+“Put ye’re slippers on,” she repeated firmly.
+
+Kerry stooped without another word and began to unlace his brogues.
+Meanwhile from a side-table his wife brought a silver tobacco-box and a
+stumpy Irish clay. The slippers substituted for his shoes, Kerry
+lovingly filled the cracked and blackened bowl with strong Irish twist,
+which he first teased carefully in his palm. The bowl rested almost
+under his nostrils when he put the pipe in his mouth, and how he
+contrived to light it without burning his moustache was not readily
+apparent. He succeeded, however, and soon was puffing clouds of pungent
+smoke into the air with the utmost contentment.
+
+“Now,” said his wife, seating herself upon the arm of the chair, “tell
+me, Dan.”
+
+Thereupon began a procedure identical to that which had characterized
+the outset of every successful case of the Chief Inspector. He rapidly
+outlined the complexities of the affair in old Bond Street, and Mary
+Kerry surveyed the problem with a curious and almost fey detachment of
+mind, which enabled her to see light where all was darkness to the man
+on the spot. With the clarity of a trained observer Kerry described the
+apartments of Kazmah, the exact place where the murdered man had been
+found, and the construction of the rooms. He gave the essential points
+from the evidence of the several witnesses, quoting the exact times at
+which various episodes had taken place. Mary Kerry, looking straightly
+before her with unseeing eyes, listened in silence until he ceased
+speaking; then:
+
+“There are really but twa rooms,” she said, in a faraway voice, “but
+the second o’ these is parteetioned into three parts?”
+
+“That’s it.”
+
+“A door free the landing opens upon the fairst room, a door free a
+passage opens upon the second. Where does yon passage lead?”
+
+“From the main stair along beside Kazmah’s rooms to a small back stair.
+This back stair goes from top to bottom of the building, from the end
+of the same hallway as the main stair.”
+
+“There is na either way out but by the front door?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Then if the evidence o’ the Spinker man is above suspeecion, Mrs.
+Irvin and this Kazmah were still on the premises when ye arrived?”
+
+“Exactly. I gathered that much at Vine Street before I went on to Bond
+Street. The whole block was surrounded five minutes after my arrival,
+and it still is.”
+
+“What ither offices are in this passage?”
+
+“None. It’s a blank wall on the left, and one door on the right—the one
+opening into the Kazmah office. There are other premises on the same
+floor, but they are across the landing.”
+
+“What premises?”
+
+“A solicitor and a commission agent.”
+
+“The floor below?”
+
+“It’s all occupied by a modiste, Renan.”
+
+“The top floor?”
+
+“Cubanis Cigarette Company, a servants’ and an electrician.”
+
+“Nae more?”
+
+“No more.”
+
+“Where does yon back stair open on the topmaist floor?”
+
+“In a corridor similar to that alongside Kazmah’s. It has two windows
+on the right overlooking a narrow roof and the top of the arcade, and
+on the left is the Cubanis Cigarette Company. The other offices are
+across the landing.”
+
+Mary Kerry stared into space awhile.
+
+“Kazmah and Mrs. Irvin could ha’ come down to the fairst floor, or gene
+up to the thaird floor unseen by the Spinker man,” she said dreamily.
+
+“But they couldn’t have reached the street, my dear!” cried Kerry.
+
+“No—they couldn’a ha’ gained the street.”
+
+She became silent again, her husband watching her expectantly. Then:
+
+“If puir Sir Lucien Pyne was killed at a quarter after seven—the time
+his watch was broken—the native sairvent did no’ kill him. Frae the
+Spinker’s evidence the black man went awe’ before then,” she said.
+“Mrs. Irvin?”
+
+Kerry shook his head.
+
+“From all accounts a slip of a woman,” he replied. “It was a strong
+hand that struck the blow.”
+
+“Kazmah?”
+
+“Probably.”
+
+“Mr. Quentin Gray came back wi’ a cab and went upstairs, free the
+Spinker’s evidence, at aboot a quarter after seven, and came doon five
+meenites later sair pale an’ fretful.”
+
+Kerry surrounded himself and the speaker with wreaths of stifling
+smoke.
+
+“We have only the bare word of Mr. Gray that he didn’t go in again,
+Mary; but I believe him. He’s a hot-headed fool, but square.”
+
+“Then ’twas yon Kazmah,” announced Mrs. Kerry. “Who is Kazmah?”
+
+Her husband laughed shortly.
+
+“That’s the point at which I got stumped,” he replied. “We’ve heard of
+him at the Yard, of course, and we know that under the cloak of a
+dealer in Eastern perfumes he carried on a fortune-telling business. He
+managed to avoid prosecution, though. It took me over an hour tonight
+to explore the thought-reading mechanism; it’s a sort of Maskelyne’s
+Mysteries worked from the inside room. But who Kazmah is or what’s his
+nationality I know no more than the man in the moon.”
+
+“Pairfume?” queried the far-away voice.
+
+“Yes, Mary. The first room is a sort of miniature scent bazaar. There
+are funny little imitation antique flasks of Kazmah preparations,
+creams, perfumes and incense, also small square wooden boxes of a kind
+of Turkish delight, and a stock of Egyptian mummy-beads, statuettes,
+and the like, which may be genuine for all I know.”
+
+“Nae books or letters?”
+
+“Not a thing, except his own advertisements, a telephone directory, and
+so on.”
+
+“The inside office bureau?”
+
+“Empty as Mother Hubbard’s cupboard!”
+
+“The place was ransacked by the same folk that emptied the dead man’s
+pockets so as tee leave nae clue,” pronounced the sibyl-like voice.
+“Mr. Gray said he had choc’lates wi’ him. Where did he leave them?”
+
+“Mary, you’re a wonder!” exclaimed the admiring Kerry. “The box was
+lying on the divan in the first room where he said he had left it on
+going out for a cab.”
+
+“Does nane o’ the evidence show if Mrs. Irvin had been to Kazmah’s
+before?”
+
+“Yes. She went there fairly regularly to buy perfume.”
+
+“No’ for the fortune-tellin’?”
+
+“No. According to Mr. Gray, to buy perfume.”
+
+“Had Mr. Gray been there wi’ her before?”
+
+“No. Sir Lucien Pyne seems to have been her pretty constant companion.”
+
+“Do ye suspect she was his lady-love?”
+
+“I believe Mr. Gray suspects something of the kind.”
+
+“And Mr. Gray?”
+
+“He is not such an old friend as Sir Lucien was. But I fancy
+nevertheless it was Mr. Gray that her husband doubted.”
+
+“Do ye suspect the puir soul had cause, Dan?”
+
+“No,” replied Kerry promptly; “I don’t. The boy is mad about her, but I
+fancy she just liked his company. He’s the heir of Lord Wrexborough,
+and Mrs. Irvin used to be a stage beauty. It’s a usual state of
+affairs, and more often than not means nothing.”
+
+“I dinna ken sich folk,” declared Mary Kerry. “They a’most desairve all
+they get. They are bound tee come tee nae guid end. Where did ye say
+Sir Lucien lived?”
+
+“Albemarle Street; just round the corner.”
+
+“Ye told me that he only kepit twa sairvents: a cook, hoosekeper, who
+lived awe’, an’ a man—a foreigner?”
+
+“A kind of half-baked Dago, named Juan Mareno. A citizen of the United
+States according to his own account.”
+
+“Ye dinna like Juan Mareno?”
+
+“He’s a hateful swine!” flashed Kerry, with sudden venom. “I’m watching
+Mareno very closely. Coombes is at work upon Sir Lucien’s papers. His
+life was a bit of a mystery. He seems to have had no relations living,
+and I can’t find that he even employed a solicitor.”
+
+“Ye’ll be sairchin’ for yon Egyptian?”
+
+“The servant? Yes. We’ll have him by the morning, and then we shall
+know who Kazmah is. Meanwhile, in which of the offices is Kazmah
+hiding?”
+
+Mary Kerry was silent for so long that her husband repeated the
+question:
+
+“In which of the offices is Kazmah hiding?”
+
+“In nane,” she said dreamily. “Ye surrounded the buildings too late, I
+ken.”
+
+“Eh!” cried Kerry, turning his head excitedly. “But the man Brisley was
+at the door all night!”
+
+“It doesna’ matter. They have escapit.”
+
+Kerry scratched his close-cropped head in angry perplexity.
+
+“You’re always right, Mary,” he said. “But hang me if—Never mind! When
+we get the servant we’ll soon get Kazmah.”
+
+“Aye,” murmured his wife. “If ye hae na’ got Kazmah the now.”
+
+“But—Mary! This isn’t helping me! It’s mystifying me deeper than ever!”
+
+“It’s no’ clear eno’, Dan. But for sure behind this mystery o’ the
+death o’ Sir Lucien there’s a darker mystery still; sair dark. ’Tis the
+biggest case ye ever had. Dinna look for Kazmah. Look tee find why the
+woman went tee him; and try tee find the meanin’ o’ the sma’ window
+behind the big chair.... Yes”—she seemed to be staring at some distant
+visible object—“watch the man Mareno—”
+
+“But—Mrs. Irvin—”
+
+“Is in God’s guid keepin’—”
+
+“You don’t think she’s dead!”
+
+“She is wairse than dead. Her sins have found her out.” The fey light
+suddenly left her eyes, and they became filled with tears. She turned
+impulsively to her husband. “Oh, Dan! Ye must find her! Ye must find
+her! Puir weak hairt—dinna ye ken how she is suffering!”
+
+“My dear,” he said, putting his arms around her, “What is it? What is
+it?”
+
+She brushed the tears from her eyes and tried to smile. “’Tis something
+like the second sight, Dan,” she answered simply. “And it’s escapit me
+again. I a’most had the clue to it a’ oh, there’s some horrible
+wickedness in it, an’ cruelty an’ shame.”
+
+The clock on the mantel shelf began to peal. Kerry was watching his
+wife’s rosy face with a mixture of loving admiration and wonder. She
+looked so very bonny and placid and capable that he was puzzled anew at
+the strange gift which she seemingly inherited from her mother, who had
+been equally shrewd, equally comely and similarly endowed.
+
+“God bless us all!” he said, kissed her heartily, and stood up. “Back
+to bed you go, my dear. I must be off. There’s Mr. Irvin to see in the
+morning, too.”
+
+A few minutes later he was swinging through the deserted streets, his
+mind wholly occupied with lover-like reflections to the exclusion of
+those professional matters which properly should have been engaging his
+attention. As he passed the end of a narrow court near the railway
+station, the gleam of his silver mounted malacca attracted the
+attention of a couple of loafers who were leaning one on either side of
+an iron pillar in the shadow of the unsavory alley. Not another
+pedestrian was in sight, and only the remote night-sounds of London
+broke the silence.
+
+Twenty paces beyond, the footpads silently closed in upon their prey.
+The taller of the pair reached him first, only to receive a back-handed
+blow full in his face which sent him reeling a couple of yards.
+
+Round leapt the assaulted man to face his second assailant.
+
+“If you two smarts really want handling,” he rapped ferociously, “say
+the word, and I’ll bash you flat.”
+
+As he turned, the light of a neighboring lamp shone down upon the
+savage face, and a smothered yell came from the shorter ruffian:
+
+“Blimey, Bill! It’s _Red Kerry!_”
+
+Whereupon, as men pursued by devils, the pair made off like the wind!
+
+Kerry glared after the retreating figures for a moment, and a grin of
+fierce satisfaction revealed his gleaming teeth. He turned again and
+swung on his way toward the main road. The incident had done him good.
+It had banished domestic matters from his mind, and he was become again
+the highly trained champion of justice, standing, an unseen buckler,
+between society and the criminal.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+A PACKET OF CIGARETTES
+
+
+Following their dismissal by Chief Inspector Kerry, Seton and Gray
+walked around to the latter’s chambers in Piccadilly. They proceeded in
+silence, Gray too angry for speech, and Seton busy with reflections. As
+the man admitted them:
+
+“Has anyone ’phoned, Willis?” asked Gray.
+
+“No one, sir.”
+
+They entered a large room which combined the characteristics of a
+library with those of a military gymnasium. Gray went to a side table
+and mixed drinks. Placing a glass before Seton, he emptied his own at a
+draught.
+
+“If you’ll excuse me for a moment,” he said, “I should like to ring up
+and see if by any possible chance there’s news of Rita.”
+
+He walked out to the telephone, and Seton heard him making a call.
+Then:
+
+“Hullo! Is that you, Hinkes?” he asked.... “Yes, speaking. Is Mrs.
+Irvin at home?”
+
+A few moments of silence followed, and:
+
+“Thanks! Good-bye,” said Gray.
+
+He rejoined his friend.
+
+“Nothing,” he reported, and made a gesture of angry resignation.
+“Evidently Hinkes is still unaware of what has happened. Irvin hasn’t
+returned yet. Seton, this business is driving me mad.”
+
+He refilled his glass, and having looked in his cigarette-case, began
+to ransack a small cupboard.
+
+“Damn it all!” he exclaimed. “I haven’t got a cigarette in the place!”
+
+“I don’t smoke them myself,” said Seton, “but I can offer you a
+cheroot.”
+
+“Thanks. They are a trifle too strong. Hullo! here are some.”
+
+From the back of a shelf he produced a small, plain brown packet, and
+took out of it a cigarette at which he stared oddly. Seton, smoking one
+of the inevitable cheroots, watched him, tapping his teeth with the rim
+of his eyeglass.
+
+“Poor old Pyne!” muttered Gray, and, looking up, met the inquiring
+glance. “Pyne left these here only the other day,” he explained
+awkwardly. “I don’t know where he got them, but they are something very
+special. I suppose I might as well.”
+
+He lighted one, and, uttering a weary sigh, threw himself into a deep
+leather-covered arm-chair. Almost immediately he was up again. The
+telephone bell had rung. His eyes alight with hope, he ran out, leaving
+the door open so that his conversation was again audible to the
+visitor.
+
+“Yes, yes, speaking. What?” His tone changed “Oh, it’s you, Margaret.
+What?... Certainly, delighted. No, there’s nobody here but old Seton
+Pasha. What? You’ve heard the fellows talk about him who were out
+East.... Yes, that’s the chap.... Come right along.”
+
+“You don’t propose to lionise me, I hope, Gray?” said Seton, as Gray
+returned to his seat.
+
+The other laughed.
+
+“I forgot you could hear me,” he admitted. “It’s my cousin, Margaret
+Halley. You’ll like her. She’s a tip-top girl, but eccentric. Goes in
+for pilling.”
+
+“Pilling?” inquired Seton gravely.
+
+“Doctoring. She’s an M.R.C.S., and only about twenty-four or so.
+Fearfully clever kid; makes me feel an infant.”
+
+“Flat heels, spectacles, and a judicial manner?”
+
+“Flat heels, yes. But not the other. She’s awfully pretty, and used to
+look simply terrific in khaki. She was an M.O. in Serbia, you know, and
+afterwards at some nurses’ hospital in Kent. She’s started in practice
+for herself now round in Dover Street. I wonder what she wants.”
+
+Silence fell between them; for, although prompted by different reasons,
+both were undesirous of discussing the tragedy; and this silence
+prevailed until the ringing of the doorbell announced the arrival of
+the girl. Willis opening the door, she entered composedly, and Gray
+introduced Seton.
+
+“I am so glad to have met you at last, Mr. Seton,” she said laughingly.
+“From Quentin’s many accounts I had formed the opinion that you were a
+kind of _Arabian Nights_ myth.”
+
+“I am glad to disappoint you,” replied Seton, finding something very
+refreshing in the company of this pretty girl, who wore a creased
+Burberry, and stray locks of whose abundant bright hair floated about
+her face in the most careless fashion imaginable.
+
+She turned to her cousin, frowning in a rather puzzled way.
+
+“Whatever have you been burning here?” she asked. “There is such a
+curious smell in the room.”
+
+Gray laughed more heartily than he had laughed that night, glancing in
+Seton’s direction.
+
+“So much for your taste in cigars!” he cried
+
+“Oh!” said Margaret, “I’m sure it’s not Mr. Seton’s cigar. It isn’t a
+smell of tobacco.”
+
+“I don’t believe they’re _made_ of tobacco!” cried Gray, laughing
+louder yet, although his merriment was forced.
+
+Seton smiled good-naturedly at the joke, but he had perceived at the
+moment of Margaret’s entrance the fact that her gaiety also was
+assumed. Serious business had dictated her visit, and he wondered the
+more to note how deeply this odor, real or fancied, seemed to intrigue
+her.
+
+She sat down in the chair which Gray placed by the fireside, and her
+cousin unceremoniously slid the brown packet of cigarettes across the
+little table in her direction.
+
+“Try one of these, Margaret,” he said. “They are great, and will quite
+drown the unpleasant odor of which you complain.”
+
+Whereupon the observant Seton saw a quick change take place in the
+girl’s expression. She had the same clear coloring as her cousin, and
+now this freshness deserted her cheeks, and her pretty face became
+quite pale. She was staring at the brown packet. “Where did you get
+them?” she asked quietly.
+
+A smile faded from Gray’s lips. Those five words had translated him in
+spirit to that green-draped room in which Sir Lucien Pyne was lying
+dead. He glanced at Seton in the appealing way which sometimes made him
+appear so boyish.
+
+“Er—from Pyne,” he replied. “I must tell you, Margaret—”
+
+“Sir Lucien Pyne?” she interrupted.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Not from Rita Irvin?”
+
+Quentin Gray started upright in his chair.
+
+“No! But why do you mention her?”
+
+Margaret bit her lip in sudden perplexity.
+
+“Oh, I don’t know.” She glanced apologetically toward Seton. He rose
+immediately.
+
+“My dear Miss Halley,” he said, “I perceive, indeed I had perceived all
+along, that you have something of a private nature to communicate to
+your cousin.”
+
+But Gray stood up, and:
+
+“Seton!... Margaret!” he said, looking from one to the other. “I mean
+to say, Margaret, if you’ve anything to tell me about Rita... Have you?
+Have you?”
+
+He fixed his gaze eagerly upon her.
+
+“I have—yes.”
+
+Seton prepared to take his leave, but Gray impetuously thrust him back,
+immediately turning again to his cousin.
+
+“Perhaps you haven’t heard, Margaret,” he began. “I have heard what has
+happened tonight—to Sir Lucien.”
+
+Both men stared at her silently for a moment.
+
+“Seton has been with me all the time,” said Gray. “If he will consent
+to stay, with your permission, Margaret, I should like him to do so.”
+
+“Why, certainly,” agreed the girl. “In fact, I shall be glad of his
+advice.”
+
+Seton inclined his head, and without another word resumed his seat.
+Gray was too excited to sit down again. He stood on the tiger-skin rug
+before the fender, watching his cousin and smoking furiously.
+
+“Firstly, then,” continued Margaret, “please throw that cigarette in
+the fire, Quentin.”
+
+Gray removed the cigarette from between his lips, and stared at it
+dazedly. He looked at the girl, and the clear grey eyes were watching
+him with an inscrutable expression.
+
+“Right-o!” he said awkwardly, and tossed the cigarette in the fire.
+“You used to smoke like a furnace, Margaret. Is this some new ‘cult’?”
+
+“I still smoke a great deal more than is good for me,” she confessed,
+“but I don’t smoke opium.”
+
+The effect of these words upon the two men who listened was curious.
+Gray turned an angry glance upon the brown packet lying on the table,
+and “Faugh!” he exclaimed, and drawing a handkerchief from his sleeve
+began disgustedly to wipe his lips. Seton stared hard at the speaker,
+tossed his cheroot into the fire, and taking up the packet withdrew a
+cigarette and sniffed at it critically. Margaret watched him.
+
+He tore the wrapping off, and tasted a strand of the tobacco.
+
+“Good heavens!” he whispered. “Gray, these things are doped!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+SIR LUCIEN’S STUDY WINDOW
+
+
+Old Bond Street presented a gloomy and deserted prospect to Chief
+Inspector Kerry as he turned out of Piccadilly and swung along toward
+the premises of Kazmah. He glanced at the names on some of the shop
+windows as he passed, and wondered if the furriers, jewelers and other
+merchants dealing in costly wares properly appreciated the services of
+the Metropolitan Police Force. He thought of the peacefully slumbering
+tradesmen in their suburban homes, the safety of their stocks wholly
+dependent upon the vigilance of that Unsleeping Eye—for to an
+unsleeping eye he mentally compared the service of which he was a
+member.
+
+A constable stood on duty before the door of the block. Red Kerry was
+known by sight and reputation to every member of the force, and the
+constable saluted as the celebrated Chief Inspector appeared.
+
+“Anything to report, constable?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“What?”
+
+“The ambulance has been for the body, and another gentleman has been.”
+
+Kerry stared at the man.
+
+“Another gentleman? Who the devil’s the other gentleman?”
+
+“I don’t know, sir. He came with Inspector Whiteleaf, and was inside
+for nearly an hour.”
+
+“Inspector Whiteleaf is off duty. What time was this?”
+
+“Twelve-thirty, sir.”
+
+Kerry chewed reflectively ere nodding to the man and passing on.
+
+“Another gentleman!” he muttered, entering the hallway. “Why didn’t
+Inspector Warley report this? Who the devil—” Deep in thought he walked
+upstairs, finding his way by the light of the pocket torch which he
+carried. A second constable was on duty at Kazmah’s door. He saluted.
+
+“Anything to report?” rapped Kerry.
+
+“Yes, sir. The body has been removed, and the gentleman with
+Inspector—”
+
+“Damn that for a tale! Describe this gentleman.”
+
+“Rather tall, pale, dark, clean-shaven. Wore a fur-collared overcoat,
+collar turned up. He was accompanied by Inspector Whiteleaf.”
+
+“H’m. Anything else?”
+
+“Yes. About an hour ago I heard a noise on the next floor—”
+
+“Eh!” snapped Kerry, and shone the light suddenly into the man’s face
+so that he blinked furiously.
+
+“Eh? What kind of noise?”
+
+“Very slight. Like something moving.”
+
+“Like _something!_ Like _what_ thing? A cat or an elephant?”
+
+“More like, say, a box or a piece of furniture.”
+
+“And you did—what?”
+
+“I went up to the top landing and listened.”
+
+“What did you hear?”
+
+“Nothing at all.”
+
+Chief Inspector Kerry chewed audibly.
+
+“All quiet?” he snapped.
+
+“Absolutely. But I’m certain I heard something all the same.”
+
+“How long had Inspector Whiteleaf and this dark horse in the fur coat
+been gone at the time you heard the noise?”
+
+“About half an hour, sir.”
+
+“Do you think the noise came from the landing or from one of the
+offices above?”
+
+“An office I should say. It was very dim.”
+
+Chief Inspector Kerry pushed upon the broken door, and walked into the
+rooms of Kazmah. Flashing the ray of his torch on the wall, he found
+the switch and snapped up the lights. He removed his overall and tossed
+it on a divan with his cane. Then, tilting his bowler further forward,
+he thrust his hands into his reefer pockets, and stood staring toward
+the door, beyond which lay the room of the murder, in darkness.
+
+“Who is he?” he muttered. “What’s it mean?”
+
+Taking up the torch, he walked through and turned on the lights in the
+inner rooms. For a long time he stood staring at the little square
+window low down behind the ebony chair, striving to imagine uses for it
+as his wife had urged him to do. The globular green lamp in the second
+apartment was worked by three switches situated in the inside room, and
+he had discovered that in this way the visitor who came to consult
+Kazmah was treated to the illusion of a gradually falling darkness.
+Then, the door in the first partition being opened, whoever sat in the
+ebony chair would become visible by the gradual uncovering of a light
+situated above the chair. On this light being covered again the figure
+would apparently fade away.
+
+It was ingenious, and, so far, quite clear. But two things badly
+puzzled the inquirer; the little window down behind the chair, and the
+fact that all the arrangements for raising and lowering the lights were
+situated not in the narrow chamber in which Kazmah’s chair stood, and
+in which Sir Lucien had been found, but in the room behind it—the room
+with which the little window communicated.
+
+The table upon which the telephone rested was set immediately under
+this mysterious window, the window was provided with a green blind, and
+the switchboard controlling the complicated lighting scheme was also
+within reach of anyone seated at the table.
+
+Kerry rolled mint gum from side to side of his mouth, and absently
+tried the handle of the door opening out from this interior
+room—evidently the office of the establishment—into the corridor. He
+knew it to be locked. Turning, he walked through the suite and out on
+to the landing, passing the constable and going upstairs to the top
+floor, torch in hand.
+
+From the main landing he walked along the narrow corridor until he
+stood at the head of the back stairs. The door nearest to him bore the
+name: “Cubanis Cigarette Company.” He tried the handle. The door was
+locked, as he had anticipated. Kneeling down, he peered into the
+keyhole, holding the electric torch close beside his face and chewing
+industriously.
+
+Ere long he stood up, descended again, but by the back stair, and stood
+staring reflectively at the door communicating with Kazmah’s inner
+room. Then walking along the corridor to where the man stood on, the
+landing, he went in again to the mysterious apartments, but only to get
+his cane and his overall and to turn out the lights.
+
+Five minutes later he was ringing the late Sir Lucien’s door-bell.
+
+A constable admitted him, and he walked straight through into the study
+where Coombes, looking very tired but smiling undauntedly, sat at a
+littered table studying piles of documents.
+
+“Anything to report?” rapped Kerry.
+
+“The man, Mareno, has gone to bed, and the expert from the Home office
+has been—”
+
+Inspector Kerry brought his cane down with a crash upon the table,
+whereat Coombes started nervously.
+
+“So that’s it!” he shouted furiously, “an ‘expert from the Home
+office’! So that’s the dark horse in the fur coat. Coombes! I’m fed up
+to the back teeth with this gun from the Home office! If I’m not to
+have entire charge of the case I’ll throw it up. I’ll stand for no
+blasted overseer checking my work! Wait till I see the Assistant
+Commissioner! What the devil has the job to do with the Home office!”
+
+“Can’t say,” murmured Coombes. “But he’s evidently a big bug from the
+way Whiteleaf treated him. He instructed me to stay in the kitchen and
+keep an eye on Mareno while he prowled about in here.”
+
+“Instructed you!” cried Kerry, his teeth gleaming and his steel-blue
+eyes creating upon Coombes’ mind an impression that they were emitting
+sparks. “_Instructed_ you! I’ll ask you a question, Detective-Sergeant
+Coombes: Who is in charge of this case?”
+
+“Well, I thought you were.”
+
+“You _thought_ I was?”
+
+“Well, you are.”
+
+“I am? Very well—you were saying—?”
+
+“I was saying that I went into the kitchen—”
+
+“Before that! Something about ‘instructed.’”
+
+Poor Coombes smiled pathetically.
+
+“Look here,” he said, bravely meeting the ferocious glare of his
+superior, “as man to man. What could I do?”
+
+“You could stop smiling!” snapped Kerry. “Hell!” He paced several times
+up and down the room. “Go ahead, Coombes.”
+
+“Well, there’s nothing much to report. I stayed in the kitchen, and the
+man from the Home office was in here alone for about half an hour.”
+
+“Alone?”
+
+“Inspector Whiteleaf stayed in the dining-room.”
+
+“Had he been ‘instructed’ too?”
+
+“I expect so. I think he just came along as a sort of guide.”
+
+“Ah!” muttered Kerry savagely, “a sort of guide! Any idea what the
+bogey man did in here?”
+
+“He opened the window. I heard him.”
+
+“That’s funny. It’s exactly what I’m going to do! This smart from
+Whitehall hasn’t got a corner in notions yet, Coombes.”
+
+The room was a large and lofty one, and had been used by a former
+tenant as a studio. The toplights had been roofed over by Sir Lucien,
+however, but the raised platform, approached by two steps, which had
+probably been used as a model’s throne, was a permanent fixture of the
+apartment. It was backed now by bookcases, except where a blue plush
+curtain was draped before a French window.
+
+Kerry drew the curtain back, and threw open the folding leaves of the
+window. He found himself looking out upon the leads of Albemarle
+Street. No stars and no moon showed through the grey clouds draping the
+wintry sky, but a dim and ghostly half-light nevertheless rendered the
+ugly expanse visible from where he stood.
+
+On one side loomed a huge tank, to the brink of which a rickety wooden
+ladder invited the explorer to ascend. Beyond it were a series of iron
+gangways and ladders forming part of the fire emergency arrangements of
+the neighboring institution. Straight ahead a section of building
+jutted up and revealed two small windows, which seemed to regard him
+like watching eyes.
+
+He walked out on to the roof, looking all about him. Beyond the tank
+opened a frowning gully—the Arcade connecting Albemarle Street with old
+Bond Street; on the other hand, the scheme of fire gangways was
+continued. He began to cross the leads, going in the direction of Bond
+Street. Coombes watched him from the study. When he came to the more
+northerly of the two windows which had attracted his attention, he
+knelt down and flashed the ray of his torch through the glass.
+
+A kind of small warehouse was revealed, containing stacks of packages.
+Immediately inside the window was a rough wooden table, and on this
+table lay a number of smaller packages, apparently containing
+cigarettes.
+
+Kerry turned his attention to the fastening of the window. A glance
+showed him that it was unlocked. Resting the torch on the leads, he
+grasped the sash and gently raised the window, noting that it opened
+almost noiselessly. Then, taking up the torch again, he stooped and
+stepped in on to the table below.
+
+It moved slightly beneath his weight. One of the legs was shorter than
+its fellows. But he reached the floor as quietly as possible, and
+instantly snapped off the light of the torch.
+
+A heavy step sounded from outside—someone was mounting the stairs—and a
+disk of light suddenly appeared upon the ground-glass panel of the
+door.
+
+Kerry stood quite still, chewing steadily.
+
+“Who’s there?” came the voice of the constable posted on Kazmah’s
+landing.
+
+The inspector made no reply.
+
+“Is there anyone here?” cried the man.
+
+The disk of light disappeared, and the alert constable could be heard
+moving along the corridor to inspect the other offices. But the ray had
+shone upon the frosted glass long enough to enable Kerry to read the
+words painted there in square black letters. They had appeared
+reversed, of course, and had read thus:
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+THE DRUG SYNDICATE
+
+
+At six-thirty that morning Margaret Halley was aroused by her maid—the
+latter but half awake—and sitting up in bed and switching on the lamp,
+she looked at the card which the servant had brought to her, and read
+the following:
+
+CHIEF INSPECTOR KERRY,
+C.I.D.
+New Scotland Yard, S.W.I.
+
+
+“Oh, dear,” she said sleepily, “what an appallingly early visitor. Is
+the bath ready yet, Janet?”
+
+“I’m afraid not,” replied the maid, a plain, elderly woman of the
+old-fashioned useful servant type. “Shall I take a kettle into the
+bathroom?”
+
+“Yes—that will have to do. Tell Inspector Kerry that I shall not be
+long.”
+
+Five minutes later Margaret entered her little consulting-room, where
+Kerry, having adjusted his tie, was standing before the mirror in the
+overmantle, staring at a large photograph of the charming lady doctor
+in military uniform. Kerry’s fierce eyes sparkled appreciatively as his
+glance rested on the tall figure arrayed in a woollen dressing-gown,
+the masculine style of which by no means disguised the beauty of
+Margaret’s athletic figure. She had hastily arranged her bright hair
+with deliberate neglect of all affectation. She belonged to that
+ultra-modern school which scorns to sue masculine admiration, but which
+cannot dispense with it nevertheless. She aspired to be assessed upon
+an intellectual basis, an ambition which her unfortunate good looks
+rendered difficult of achievement.
+
+“Good morning, Inspector,” she said composedly. “I was expecting you.”
+
+“Really, miss?” Kerry stared curiously. “Then you know what I’ve come
+about?”
+
+“I think so. Won’t you sit down? I am afraid the room is rather cold.
+Is it about—Sir Lucien Pyne?”
+
+“Well,” replied Kerry, “it concerns him certainly. I’ve been in
+communication by telephone with Hinkes, Mr. Monte Irvin’s butler, and
+from him I learned that you were professionally attending Mrs. Irvin.”
+
+“I was not her regular medical adviser, but—”
+
+Margaret hesitated, glancing rapidly at the Inspector, and then down at
+the writing-table before which she was seated. She began to tap the
+blotting-pad with an ivory paper-knife. Kerry was watching her
+intently.
+
+“Upon your evidence, Miss Halley,” he said rapidly, “may depend the
+life of the missing woman.”
+
+“Oh!” cried Margaret, “whatever can have happened to her? I rang up as
+late as two o’clock this morning; after that I abandoned hope.”
+
+“There’s something underlying the case that I don’t understand, miss. I
+look to you to put me wise.”
+
+She turned to him impulsively.
+
+“I will tell you all I know, Inspector,” she said. “I will be perfectly
+frank with you.”
+
+“Good!” rapped Kerry. “Now—you have known Mrs. Monte Irvin for some
+time?”
+
+“For about two years.”
+
+“You didn’t know her when she was on the stage?”
+
+“No. I met her at a Red Cross concert at which she sang.”
+
+“Do you think she loved her husband?”
+
+“I know she did.”
+
+“Was there any—prior attachment?”
+
+“Not that I know of.”
+
+“Mr. Quentin Gray?”
+
+Margaret smiled, rather mirthlessly.
+
+“He is my cousin, Inspector, and it was I who introduced him to Rita
+Irvin. I sincerely wish I had never done so. He lost his head
+completely.”
+
+“There was nothing in Mrs. Irvin’s attitude towards him to justify her
+husband’s jealousy?”
+
+“She was always frightfully indiscreet, Inspector, but nothing more.
+You see, she is greatly admired, and is used to the company of silly,
+adoring men. Her husband doesn’t really understand the ways of these
+Bohemian folks. I knew it would lead to trouble sooner or later.”
+
+“Ah!”
+
+Chief Inspector Kerry thrust his hands into the pockets of his jacket.
+
+“Now—Sir Lucien?”
+
+Margaret tapped more rapidly with the paper-knife.
+
+“Sir Lucien belonged to a set of which Rita had been a member during
+her stage career. I think—he admired her; in fact, I believe he had
+offered her marriage. But she did not care for him in the least—in that
+way.”
+
+“Then in what way did she care for him?” rapped Kerry.
+
+“Well—now we are coming to the point.” Momentarily she hesitated, then:
+“They were both addicted—”
+
+“Yes?”
+
+“—to drugs.”
+
+“Eh?” Kerry’s eyes grew hard and fierce in a moment. “What drugs?”
+
+“All sorts of drugs. Shortly after I became acquainted with Rita Irvin
+I learned that she was a victim of the drug habit, and I tried to cure
+her. I regret to say that I failed. At that time she had acquired a
+taste for opium.”
+
+Kerry said not a word, and Margaret raised her head and looked at him
+pathetically.
+
+“I can see that you have no pity for the victims of this ghastly vice,
+Inspector Kerry,” she said.
+
+“I haven’t!” he snapped fiercely. “I admit I haven’t, miss. It’s bad
+enough in the heathens, but for an Englishwoman to dope herself is
+downright unchristian and beastly.”
+
+“Yet I have come across so many of these cases, during the war and
+since, that I have begun to understand how easy, how dreadfully easy it
+is, for a woman especially, to fall into the fatal habit. Bereavement
+or that most frightful of all mental agonies, suspense, will too often
+lead the poor victim into the path that promises forgetfulness. Rita
+Irvin’s case is less excusable. I think she must have begun drug-taking
+because of the mental and nervous exhaustion resulting from late hours
+and over-much gaiety. The demands of her profession proved too great
+for her impaired nervous energy, and she sought some stimulant which
+would enable her to appear bright on the stage when actually she should
+have been recuperating, in sleep, that loss of vital force which can be
+recuperated in no other way.”
+
+“But _opium!_” snapped Kerry.
+
+“I am afraid her other drug habits had impaired her will, and shaken
+her self-control. She was tempted to try opium by its promise of a new
+and novel excitement.”
+
+“Her husband, I take it, was ignorant of all this?”
+
+“I believe he was. Quentin—Mr. Gray—had no idea of it either.”
+
+“Then it was Sir Lucien Pyne who was in her confidence in the matter?”
+
+Margaret nodded slowly, still tapping the blotting-pad.
+
+“He used to accompany her to places where drugs could be obtained, and
+on several occasions—I cannot say how many—I believe he went with her
+to some den in Chinatown. It may have been due to Mr. Irvin’s discovery
+that his wife could not satisfactorily account for some of these
+absences from home which led him to suspect her fidelity.”
+
+“Ah!” said Kerry hardly, “I shouldn’t wonder. And now”—he thrust out a
+pointing finger—“where did she get these drugs?”
+
+Margaret met the fierce stare composedly.
+
+“I have said that I shall be quite frank,” she replied. “In my opinion
+she obtained them from Kazmah.”
+
+“Kazmah!” shouted Kerry. “Excuse me, miss, but I see I’ve been wearing
+blinkers without knowing it! Kazmah’s was a dope-shop?”
+
+“That has been my belief for a long time, Inspector. I may add that I
+have never been able to obtain a shred of evidence to prove it. I am so
+keenly interested in seeing the people who pander to this horrible vice
+unmasked and dealt with as they merit, that I have tried many times to
+find out if my suspicion was correct.”
+
+Inspector Kerry was writhing his shoulders excitedly. “Did you ever
+visit Kazmah?” he asked.
+
+“Yes. I asked Rita Irvin to take me, but she refused, and I could see
+that the request embarrassed her. So I went alone.”
+
+“Describe exactly what took place.”
+
+Margaret Halley stared reflectively at the blotting-pad for a moment,
+and then described a typical seance at Kazmah’s. In conclusion:
+
+“As I came away,” she said, “I bought a bottle of every kind of perfume
+on sale, some of the incense, and also a box of sweetmeat; but they all
+proved to be perfectly harmless. I analyzed them.”
+
+Kerry’s eyes glistened with admiration.
+
+“We could do with you at the Yard, miss,” he said. “Excuse me for
+saying so.”
+
+Margaret smiled rather wanly.
+
+“Now—this man Kazmah,” resumed the Chief Inspector. “Did you ever see
+him again?”
+
+“Never. I have been trying for months and months to find out who he
+is.”
+
+Kerry’s face became very grim.
+
+“About ten trained men are trying to find that out at the present
+moment!” he rapped. “Do you think he wore a make-up?”
+
+“He may have done so,” Margaret admitted. “But his features were
+obviously undisguised, and his eyes one would recognize anywhere. They
+were larger than any human eyes I have ever seen.”
+
+“He couldn’t have been the Egyptian who looked after the shop, for
+instance?”
+
+“Impossible! He did not remotely resemble him. Besides, the man to whom
+you refer remained outside to receive other visitors. Oh, that’s out of
+the question, Inspector.”
+
+“The light was very dim?”
+
+“Very dim indeed, and Kazmah never once raised his head. Indeed, except
+for a dignified gesture of greeting and one of dismissal, he never
+moved. His immobility was rather uncanny.”
+
+Kerry began to pace up and down the narrow room, and:
+
+“He bore no resemblance to the late Sir Lucien Pyne, for instance?” he
+rapped.
+
+Margaret laughed outright and her laughter was so inoffensive and so
+musical that the Chief Inspector laughed also.
+
+“That’s more hopeless than ever!” she said. “Poor Sir Lucien had
+strong, harsh features and rather small eyes. He wore a moustache, too.
+But Sir Lucien, I feel sure, was one of Kazmah’s clients.”
+
+“Ah!” said Kerry. “And what leads you to suppose Miss Halley, that this
+Kazmah dealt in drugs?”
+
+“Well, you see, Rita Irvin was always going there to buy perfumes, and
+she frequently sent her maid as well.”
+
+“But”—Kerry stared—“you say that the perfume was harmless.”
+
+“That which was sold to casual visitors was harmless, Inspector. But I
+strongly suspect that regular clients were supplied with something
+quite different. You see, I know no fewer than thirty unfortunate women
+in the West End of London alone who are simply helpless slaves to
+various drugs, and I think it more than a coincidence that upon their
+dressing-tables I have almost invariably found one or more of Kazmah’s
+peculiar antique flasks.”
+
+Chief Inspector Kerry’s jaw muscles protruded conspicuously.
+
+“You speak of patients?” he asked.
+
+Margaret nodded her head.
+
+“When a woman becomes addicted to the drug habit,” she explained, “she
+sometimes shuns her regular medical adviser. I have many patients who
+came to me originally simply because they dared not face their family
+doctor. In fact, since I gave up Army work, my little practice has
+threatened to develop into that of a drug-habit specialist.”
+
+“Have you taxed any of these people with obtaining drugs from Kazmah?”
+
+“Not directly. It would have been undiplomatic. But I have tried to
+surprise them into telling me. Unfortunately, these poor people are as
+cunning as any other kind of maniac, for, of course, it becomes a form
+of mania. They recognize that confession might lead to a stoppage of
+supplies—the eventuality they most dread.”
+
+“Did you examine the contents of any of these flasks found on
+dressing-tables?”
+
+“I rarely had an opportunity; but when I did they proved to contain
+perfume when they contained anything.”
+
+“H’m,” mused Kerry, and although in deference to Margaret, he had
+denied himself chewing-gum, his jaws worked automatically. “I gather
+that Mrs. Monte Irvin had expressed a wish to see you last night?”
+
+“Yes. Apparently she was threatened with a shortage of cocaine.”
+
+“Cocaine was her drug?”
+
+“One of them. She had tried them all, poor, silly girl! You must
+understand that for a habitual drug-taker suddenly to be deprived of
+drugs would lead to complete collapse, perhaps death. And during the
+last few days I had noticed a peculiar nervous symptom in Rita Irvin
+which had interested me. Finally, the day before yesterday, she
+confessed that her usual source of supply had been closed to her. Her
+words were very vague, but I gathered that some form of coercion was
+being employed.”
+
+“With what object?”
+
+“I have no idea. But she used the words, ‘They will drive me mad,’ and
+seemed to be in a dangerously nervous condition. She said that she was
+going to make a final attempt to obtain a supply of the poison which
+had become indispensable to her. ‘I cannot do without it!’ she said.
+‘But if they refuse, will you give me some?’”
+
+“What did you say?”
+
+“I begged of her, as I had done on many previous occasions, to place
+herself in my hands. But she evaded a direct answer, as is the way of
+one addicted to this vice. ‘If I cannot get some by tomorrow,’ she
+said, ‘I shall go mad, or dead. Can I rely on you?’”
+
+“I told her that I would prescribe cocaine for her on the distinct
+understanding that from the first dose she was to place herself under
+my care for a cure.”
+
+“She agreed?”
+
+“She agreed. Yesterday afternoon, while I was away at an important
+case, she came here. Poor Rita!” Margaret’s soft voice trembled.
+“Look—she left this note.”
+
+From a letter-rack she took a square sheet of paper and handed it to
+the Chief Inspector. He bent his fierce eyes upon the writing—large,
+irregular and shaky.
+
+“‘Dear Margaret,’” he read aloud. “‘Why aren’t you at home? I am wild
+with pain, and feel I am going mad. Come to me _directly_ you return,
+and bring enough to keep me alive. I—’, Hullo! there’s no finish!”
+
+He glanced up from the page. Margaret Halley’s eyes were dim.
+
+“She despaired of my coming and went to Kazmah,” she said. “Can you
+doubt that that was what she went for?”
+
+“No!” snapped Kerry savagely, “I can’t. But do you mean to tell me,
+Miss Halley, that Mrs. Irvin couldn’t get cocaine anywhere else? I know
+for a fact that it’s smuggled in regularly, and there’s more than one
+receiver.”
+
+Margaret looked at him strangely.
+
+“I know it, too, Inspector,” she said quietly. “Owing to the lack of
+enterprise on the part of our British drug-houses, even reputable
+chemists are sometimes dependent upon illicit stock from Japan and
+America. But do you know that the price of these smuggled drugs has
+latterly become so high as to be prohibitive in many cases?”
+
+“I don’t. What are you driving at, miss?”
+
+“At this: Somebody had made a corner in contraband drugs. The most
+wicked syndicate that ever was formed has got control of the lives of,
+it may be, thousands of drug-slaves!”
+
+Kerry’s teeth closed with a sharp snap.
+
+“At last,” he said, “I see where the smart from the Home office comes
+in.”
+
+“The Secretary of State has appointed a special independent
+commissioner to inquire into this hellish traffic,” replied Margaret
+quietly. “I am glad to say that I have helped in getting this done by
+the representations which I have made to my uncle, Lord Wrexborough.
+But I give you my word, Inspector Kerry, that I have withheld nothing
+from you any more than from him.”
+
+“Him!” snapped Kerry, eyes fiercely ablaze.
+
+“From the Home Office representative—before whom I have already given
+evidence.”
+
+Chief Inspector Kerry took up his hat, cane and overall from the chair
+upon which he had placed them and, his face a savage red mask, bowed
+with a fine courtesy. He burned to learn particulars; he disdained to
+obtain them from a woman.
+
+“Good morning, Miss Halley,” he said. “I am greatly indebted to you.”
+
+He walked stiffly from the room and out of the flat without waiting for
+a servant to open the door.
+
+
+
+
+PART SECOND
+MRS. SIN
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+THE MAID OF THE MASQUE
+
+
+The past life of Mrs. Monte Irvin, in which at this time three distinct
+groups of investigators became interested—namely, those of Whitehall,
+Scotland Yard, and Fleet Street—was of a character to have horrified
+the prudish, but to have excited the compassion of the wise.
+
+Daughter of a struggling suburban solicitor, Rita Esden, at the age of
+seventeen, from a delicate and rather commonplace child began to
+develop into a singularly pretty girl of an elusive and fascinating
+type of beauty, almost ethereal in her dainty coloring, and possessed
+of large and remarkably fine eyes, together with a wealth of copper-red
+hair, a crown which seemed too heavy for her slender neck to support.
+Her father viewed her increasing charms and ever-growing list of
+admirers with the gloomy apprehension of a disappointed man who had
+come to look upon each gift of the gods as a new sorrow cunningly
+disguised. Her mother, on the contrary, fanned the girl’s natural
+vanity and ambition with a success which rarely attended the
+enterprises of this foolish old woman, and Rita proving to be endowed
+with a moderately good voice, a stage career was determined upon
+without reference to the contrary wishes of Mr. Esden.
+
+Following the usual brief “training” which is counted sufficient for an
+aspirant to musical comedy honors, Rita, by the prefixing of two
+letters to her name, set out to conquer the play-going world as Rita
+Dresden.
+
+Two years of hard work and disappointment served to dispel the girl’s
+illusions. She learned to appreciate at its true value that masculine
+admiration which, in an unusual degree, she had the power to excite.
+Those of her admirers who were in a position to assist her
+professionally were only prepared to use their influence upon terms
+which she was unprepared to accept. Those whose intentions were
+strictly creditable, by some malignancy of fate, possessed no influence
+whatever. She came to regard herself as a peculiarly unlucky girl,
+being ignorant of the fact that Fortune, an impish hierophant, imposes
+identical tests upon every candidate who aspires to the throne of a
+limelight princess.
+
+Matters stood thus when a new suitor appeared in the person of Sir
+Lucien Pyne. When his card was brought up to Rita, her heart leaped
+because of a mingled emotion of triumph and fear which the sight of the
+baronet’s name had occasioned. He was a director of the syndicate in
+whose production she was playing—a man referred to with awe by every
+girl in the company as having it in his power to make or mar a
+professional reputation. Not that he took any active part in the
+affairs of the concern; on the contrary, he was an aristocrat who held
+himself aloof from all matters smacking of commerce, but at the same
+time one who invested his money shrewdly. Sir Lucien’s protegee of
+today was London’s idol of tomorrow, and even before Rita had spoken to
+him she had fought and won a spiritual battle between her true self and
+that vain, admiration-loving Rita Dresden who favored capitulation.
+
+She knew that Sir Lucien’s card represented a signpost at the
+cross-roads where many a girl, pretty but not exceptionally talented,
+had hesitated with beating heart. It was no longer a question of
+remaining a member of the chorus (and understudy for a small part) or
+of accepting promotion to “lead” in a new production; it was that of
+accepting whatever Sir Lucien chose to offer—or of retiring from the
+profession so far as this powerful syndicate was concerned.
+
+Such was the reputation enjoyed at this time by Sir Lucien Pyne among
+those who had every opportunity of forming an accurate opinion.
+
+Nevertheless, Rita was determined not to succumb without a struggle.
+She did not count herself untalented nor a girl to be lightly valued,
+and Sir Lucien might prove to be less black than rumor had painted him.
+As presently appeared, both in her judgment of herself and in that of
+Sir Lucien, she was at least partially correct. He was very courteous,
+very respectful, and highly attentive.
+
+Her less favored companions smiled significantly when the familiar
+Rolls-Royce appeared at the stage door night after night, never
+doubting that Rita Dresden was chosen to “star” in the forthcoming
+production, but, with rare exceptions, frankly envying her this good
+fortune.
+
+Rita made no attempt to disillusion them, recognizing that it must
+fail. She was resigned to being misjudged. If she could achieve success
+at that price, success would have been purchased cheaply.
+
+That Sir Lucien was deeply infatuated she was not slow to discover, and
+with an address perfected by experience and a determination to avoid
+the easy path inherited from a father whose scrupulous honesty had
+ruined his professional prospects, she set to work to win esteem as
+well as admiration.
+
+Sir Lucien was first surprised, then piqued, and finally interested by
+such unusual tactics. The second phase was the dangerous one for Rita,
+and during a certain luncheon at Romanos her fate hung in the balance.
+Sir Lucien realized that he was in peril of losing his head over this
+tantalizingly pretty girl who gracefully kept him at a distance,
+fencing with an adroitness which was baffling, and Sir Lucien Pyne had
+set out with no intention of doing anything so preposterous as falling
+in love. Keenly intuitive, Rita scented danger and made a bold move.
+Carelessly rolling a bread-crumb along the cloth:
+
+“I am giving up the stage when the run finishes,” she said.
+
+“Indeed,” replied Sir Lucien imperturbably. “Why?”
+
+“I am tired of stage life. I have been invited to go and live with my
+uncle in New York and have decided to accept. You see”—she bestowed
+upon him a swift glance of her brilliant eyes—“men in the theatrical
+world are not all like you. Real friends, I mean. It isn’t very nice,
+sometimes.”
+
+Sir Lucien deliberately lighted a cigarette. If Rita was bluffing, he
+mused, she had the pluck to make good her bluff. And if she did so? He
+dropped the extinguished match upon a plate. Did he care? He glanced at
+the girl, who was smiling at an acquaintance on the other side of the
+room. Fortune’s wheel spins upon a needle point. By an artistic
+performance occupying less than two minutes, but suggesting that Rita
+possessed qualities which one day might spell success, she had decided
+her fate. Her heart was beating like a hammer in her breast, but she
+preserved an attitude of easy indifference. Without for a moment
+believing in the American uncle, Sir Lucien did believe, correctly,
+that Rita Dresden was about to elude him. He realized, too, that he was
+infinitely more interested than he had ever been hitherto, and more
+interested than he had intended to become.
+
+This seemingly trivial conversation was a turning point, and twelve
+months later Rita Dresden was playing the title rôle in _The Maid of
+the Masque_. Sir Lucien had discovered himself to be really in love
+with her, and he might quite possibly have offered her marriage even if
+a dangerous rival had not appeared to goad him to that desperate
+leap—for so he regarded it. Monte Irvin, although considerably Rita’s
+senior, had much to commend him in the eyes of the girl—and in the eyes
+of her mother, who still retained a curious influence over her
+daughter. He was much more wealthy than Pyne, and although the latter
+was a baronet, Irvin was certain to be knighted ere long, so that Rita
+would secure the appendage of “Lady” in either case. Also, his
+reputation promised a more reliable husband than Sir Lucien could be
+expected to make. Moreover, Rita liked him, whereas she had never
+sincerely liked and trusted Sir Lucien. And there was a final reason—of
+which Mrs. Esden knew nothing.
+
+On the first night that Rita had been entrusted with a part of any
+consequence—and this was shortly after the conversation at Romanos—she
+had discovered herself to be in a state of hopeless panic. All her
+scheming and fencing would have availed her nothing if she were to
+break down at the critical moment. It was an eventuality which Sir
+Lucien had foreseen, and he seized the opportunity at once of securing
+a new hold upon the girl and of rendering her more pliable than he had
+hitherto found her to be. At this time the idea of marriage had not
+presented itself to Sir Lucien.
+
+Some hours before the performance he detected her condition of abject
+fright... and from his waistcoat pocket he took a little gold
+snuff-box.
+
+At first the girl declined to follow advice which instinctively she
+distrusted, and Sir Lucien was too clever to urge it upon her. But he
+glanced casually at his wrist-watch—and poor Rita shuddered. The gold
+box was hidden again in the baronet’s pocket.
+
+To analyze the process which thereupon took place in Rita’s mind would
+be a barren task, since its result was a foregone conclusion. Daring
+ambition rather than any merely abstract virtue was the keynote of her
+character. She had rebuffed the advances of Sir Lucien as she had
+rebuffed others, primarily because her aim in life was set higher than
+mere success in light comedy. This she counted but a means to a more
+desirable end—a wealthy marriage. To the achievement of such an
+alliance the presence of an accepted lover would be an obstacle; and
+true love Rita Dresden had never known. Yet, short of this final
+sacrifice which some women so lightly made, there were few scruples
+which she was not prepared to discard in furtherance of her designs.
+Her morality, then, was diplomatic, for the vice of ambition may
+sometimes make for virtue.
+
+Rita’s vivacious beauty and perfect self-possession on the fateful
+night earned her a permanent place in stageland: Rita Dresden became a
+“star.” She had won a long and hard-fought battle; but in avoiding one
+master she had abandoned herself to another.
+
+The triumph of her debut left her strangely exhausted. She dreaded the
+coming of the second night almost as keenly as she had dreaded the
+ordeal of the first. She struggled, poor victim, and only increased her
+terrors. Not until the clock showed her that in twenty minutes she must
+make her first entrance did she succumb. But Sir Lucien’s gold
+snuff-box lay upon her dressing-table—and she was trembling. When at
+last she heard the sustained note of the oboe in the orchestra giving
+the pitch to the answering violins, she raised the jewelled lid of the
+box.
+
+So she entered upon the path which leads down to destruction, and since
+to conjure with the drug which pharmacists know as methylbenzoyl
+ecgonine is to raise the demon Insomnia, ere long she found herself
+exploring strange by-paths in quest of sleep.
+
+By the time that she was entrusted with the leading part in _The Maid
+of the Masque_, she herself did not recognize how tenacious was the
+hold which this fatal habit had secured upon her. In the company of Sir
+Lucien Pyne she met other devotees, and for a time came to regard her
+unnatural mode of existence as something inseparable from the Bohemian
+life. To the horrible side of it she was blind.
+
+It was her meeting with Monte Irvin during the run of this successful
+play which first awakened a dawning comprehension; not because she
+ascribed his admiration to her artificial vivacity, but because she
+realized the strength of the link subsisting between herself and Sir
+Lucien. She liked and respected Irvin, and as a result began to view
+her conduct from a new standpoint. His life was so entirely open and
+free from reproach while part of her own was dark and secret. She
+conceived a desire to be done with that dark and secret life.
+
+This was a shadow-land over which Sir Lucien Pyne presided, and which
+must be kept hidden from Monte Irvin; and it was not until she thus
+contemplated cutting herself adrift from it all that she perceived the
+Gordian knot which bound her to the drug coterie. How far, yet how
+smoothly, by all but imperceptible stages she had glided down the
+stream since that night when the gold box had lain upon her
+dressing-table! Kazmah’s drug store in Bond Street had few secrets for
+her; or so she believed. She knew that the establishment of the
+strange, immobile Egyptian was a source from which drugs could always
+be obtained; she knew that the dream-reading business served some
+double purpose; but she did not know the identity of Kazmah.
+
+Two of the most insidious drugs familiar to modern pharmacy were wooing
+her to slavery, and there was no strong hand to hold her back. Even the
+presence of her mother might have offered some slight deterrent at this
+stage of Rita’s descent, but the girl had quitted her suburban home as
+soon as her salary had rendered her sufficiently independent to do so,
+and had established herself in a small but elegant flat situated in the
+heart of theatreland.
+
+But if she had walked blindly into the clutches of cocaine and veronal,
+her subsequent experiments with _chandu_ were prompted by indefensible
+curiosity, and a false vanity which urged her to do everything that was
+“done” by the ultra-smart and vicious set of which she had become a
+member.
+
+Her first introduction to opium-smoking was made under the auspices of
+an American comedian then appearing in London, an old devotee of the
+poppy, and it took place shortly after Sir Lucien Pyne had proposed
+marriage to Rita. This proposal she had not rejected outright; she had
+pleaded time for consideration. Monte Irvin was away, and Rita secretly
+hoped that on his return he would declare himself. Meanwhile she
+indulged in every new craze which became fashionable among her
+associates. A _chandu_ party took place at the American’s flat in Duke
+Street, and Rita, who had been invited, and who had consented to go
+with Sir Lucien Pyne, met there for the first time the woman variously
+known as “Lola” and “Mrs. Sin.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+A CHANDU PARTY
+
+
+From the restaurant at which she had had supper with Sir Lucien, Rita
+proceeded to Duke Street. Alighting from Pyne’s car at the door, they
+went up to the flat of the organizer of the opium party—Mr. Cyrus
+Kilfane. One other guest was already present—a slender, fair woman, who
+was introduced by the American as Mollie Gretna, but whose weakly
+pretty face Rita recognized as that of a notorious society divorcée,
+foremost in the van of every new craze, a past-mistress of the smartest
+vices.
+
+Kilfane had sallow, expressionless features and drooping, light-colored
+eyes. His straw-hued hair, brushed back from a sloping brow, hung
+lankly down upon his coat-collar. Long familiarity with China’s ruling
+vice and contact with those who practiced it had brought about that
+mysterious physical alteration—apparently reflecting a mental change—so
+often to be seen in one who has consorted with Chinamen. Even the light
+eyes seemed to have grown slightly oblique; the voice, the
+unimpassioned greeting, were those of a son of Cathay. He carried
+himself with a stoop and had a queer, shuffling gait.
+
+“Ah, my dear daughter,” he murmured in a solemnly facetious manner,
+“how glad I am to welcome you to our poppy circle.”
+
+He slowly turned his half-closed eyes in Pyne’s direction, and slowly
+turned them back again.
+
+“Do you seek forgetfulness of old joys?” he asked. “This is my own case
+and Pyne’s. Or do you, as Mollie does, seek new joys—youth’s eternal
+quest?”
+
+Rita laughed with a careless abandon which belonged to that part of her
+character veiled from the outer world.
+
+“I think I agree with Miss Gretna,” she said lightly. “There is not so
+much happiness in life that I want to forget the little I have had.”
+
+“Happiness,” murmured Kilfane. “There is no real happiness. Happiness
+is smoke. Let us smoke.”
+
+“I am curious, but half afraid,” declared Rita. “I have heard that
+opium sometimes has no other effect than to make one frightfully ill.”
+
+“Oh, my dear!” cried Miss Gretna, with a foolish giggling laugh, “you
+will love it! Such fascinating dreams! Such delightful adventures!”
+
+“Other drugs,” drawled Sir Lucien, “merely stimulate one’s normal
+mental activities. _Chandu_ is a key to another life. Cocaine, for
+instance enhances our capacity for work. It is only a heretic like De
+Quincey who prostitutes the magic gum to such base purposes. _Chandu_
+is misunderstood in Europe; in Asia it is the companion of the
+aesthete’s leisure.”
+
+“But surely,” said Rita, “one pipe of opium will not produce all these
+wonders.”
+
+“Some people never experience them at all,” interrupted Miss Gretna.
+“The great idea is to get into a comfortable position, and just resign
+yourself—let yourself go. Oh, it’s heavenly!”
+
+Cyrus Kilfane turned his dull eyes in Rita’s direction.
+
+“A question of temperament and adaptability,” he murmured. “De Quincey,
+Pyne”—slowly turning towards the baronet—“is didactic, of course; but
+his _Confessions_ may be true, nevertheless. He forgets, you see, that
+he possessed an unusual constitution, and the temperament of a
+Norwegian herring. He forgets, too, that he was a laudanum drinker, not
+an opium smoker. Now you, my daughter”—the lustreless eyes again sought
+Rita’s flushed face—“are vivid—intensely vital. If you can succeed in
+resigning yourself to the hypnosis induced your experiences will be
+delightful. Trust your Uncle Cy.”
+
+Leaving Rita chatting with Miss Gretna, Kilfane took Pyne aside,
+offering him a cigarette from an ornate, jewelled case.
+
+“Hello,” said the baronet, “can you still get these?”
+
+“With the utmost difficulty,” murmured Kilfane, returning the case to
+his pocket. “Lola charges me five guineas a hundred for them, and only
+supplies them as a favor. I shall be glad to get back home, Pyne. The
+right stuff is the wrong price in London.”
+
+Sir Lucien laughed sardonically, lighting Kilfane’s cigarette and then
+his own.
+
+“I find it so myself,” he said. “Everything except opium is to be had
+at Kazmah’s, and nothing except opium interests me.”
+
+“He supplies me with cocaine,” murmured the comedian. “His figure works
+out, as nearly as I can estimate it, at 10s 7½d. a grain. I saw him
+about it yesterday afternoon, pointing out to the brown guy that as the
+wholesale price is roughly 2¼d., I regarded his margin of profit as
+somewhat broad.”
+
+“Indeed!”
+
+“The first time I had ever seen him, Pyne. I brought an introduction
+from Dr. Silver, of New York, and Kazmah supplied me without
+question—at a price.”
+
+“You always saw Rashîd?”
+
+“Yes. If there were other visitors I waited. But yesterday I made a
+personal appointment with Kazmah. He pretended to think I had come to
+have a dream interpreted. He is clever, Pyne. He never moved a muscle
+throughout the interview. But finally he assured me that all the
+receivers in England had amalgamated, and that the price he charged
+represented a very narrow margin of profit. Of course he is a liar. He
+is making a fortune. Do you know him personally?”
+
+“No,” replied Sir Lucien, “outside his Bond Street home of mystery he
+is unknown. A clever man, as you say. You obtain your opium from Lola?”
+
+“Yes. Kazmah sent her to me. She keeps me on ridiculously low rations,
+and if I had not brought my own outfit I don’t think she would have
+sold me one. Of course, her game is beating up clients for the
+Limehouse dive.”
+
+“You have visited ‘The House of a Hundred Raptures’?”
+
+“Many times, at week-ends. Opium, like wine, is better enjoyed in
+company.”
+
+“Does she post you the opium?”
+
+“Oh, no; my man goes to Limehouse for it. Ah! here she is.”
+
+A woman came in, carrying a brown leather attaché case. She had left
+her hat and coat in the hall, and wore a smart blue serge skirt and a
+white blouse. She was not tall, but she possessed a remarkably
+beautiful figure which the cut of her garments was not intended to
+disguise, and her height was appreciably increased by a pair of suéde
+shoes having the most wonderful heels which Rita ever remembered to
+have seen worn on or off the stage. They seemed to make her small feet
+appear smaller, and lent to her slender ankles an exaggerated frontal
+curve.
+
+Her hair was of that true, glossy black which suggests the blue sheen
+of raven’s plumage, and her thickly fringed eyes were dark and southern
+as her hair. She had full, voluptuous lips, and a bold self-assurance.
+In the swift, calculating glance which she cast about the room there
+was something greedy and evil; and when it rested upon Rita Dresden’s
+dainty beauty to the evil greed was added cruelty.
+
+“Another little sister, dear Lola,” murmured Kilfane. “Of course, you
+know who it is? This, my daughter,” turning the sleepy glance towards
+Rita, “is our officiating priestess, Mrs. Sin.”
+
+The woman so strangely named revealed her gleaming teeth in a swift,
+unpleasant smile, then her nostrils dilated and she glanced about her
+suspiciously.
+
+“Someone smokes the _chandu_ cigarettes,” she said, speaking in a low
+tone which, nevertheless, failed to disguise her harsh voice, and with
+a very marked accent.
+
+“I am the offender, dear Lola,” said Kilfane, dreamily waving his
+cigarette towards her. “I have managed to make the last hundred spin
+out. You have brought me a new supply?”
+
+“Oh no, indeed,” replied Mrs. Sin, tossing her head in a manner oddly
+reminiscent of a once famous Spanish dancer. “Next Tuesday you get some
+more. Ah! it is no good! You talk and talk and it cannot alter
+anything. Until they come I cannot give them to you.”
+
+“But it appears to me,” murmured Kilfane, “that the supply is always
+growing less.”
+
+“Of course. The best goes all to Edinburgh now. I have only three
+sticks of Yezd left of all my stock.”
+
+“But the cigarettes.”
+
+“Are from Buenos Ayres? Yes. But Buenos Ayres must get the opium before
+we get the cigarettes, eh? Five cases come to London on Tuesday, Cy. Be
+of good courage, my dear.”
+
+She patted the sallow cheek of the American with her jewelled fingers,
+and turned aside, glancing about her.
+
+“Yes,” murmured Kilfane. “We are all present, Lola. I have had the room
+prepared. Come, my children, let us enter the poppy portico.”
+
+He opened a door and stood aside, waving one thin yellow hand between
+the first two fingers of which smouldered the drugged cigarette. Led by
+Mrs. Sin the company filed into an apartment evidently intended for a
+drawing-room, but which had been hastily transformed into an opium
+divan.
+
+Tables, chairs, and other items of furniture had been stacked against
+one of the walls and the floor spread with rugs, skins, and numerous
+silk cushions. A gas fire was alight, but before it had been placed an
+ornate Japanese screen whereon birds of dazzling plumage hovered amid
+the leaves of gilded palm trees. In the centre of the room stood a
+small card-table, and upon it were a large brass tray and an ivory
+pedestal exquisitely carved in the form of a nude figure having one arm
+upraised. The figure supported a lamp, the light of which was subdued
+by a barrel-shaped shade of Chinese workmanship.
+
+Mollie Gretna giggled hysterically.
+
+“Make yourself comfortable, dear,” she cried to Rita, dropping down
+upon a heap of cushions stacked in a recess beside the fireplace. “I am
+going to take off my shoes. The last time, Cyrus, when I woke up my
+feet were quite numb.”
+
+“You should come down to my place,” said Mrs. Sin, setting the leather
+case on the little card-table beside the lamp. “You have there your own
+little room and silken sheets to lie in, and it is quiet—so quiet.”
+
+“Oh!” cried Mollie Gretna, “I _must_ come! But I daren’t go alone. Will
+you come with me, dear?” turning to Rita.
+
+“I don’t know,” was the reply. “I may not like opium.”
+
+“But if you do—and I know you will?”
+
+“Why,” said Rita, glancing rapidly at Pyne, “I suppose it would be a
+novel experience.”
+
+“Let me arrange it for you,” came the harsh voice of Mrs. Sin. “Lucy
+will drive you both down—won’t you, my dear?” The shadowed eyes glanced
+aside at Sir Lucien Pyne.
+
+“Certainly,” he replied. “I am always at the ladies’ service.”
+
+Rita Dresden settled herself luxuriously into a nest of silk and fur in
+another corner of the room, regarding the baronet coquettishly through
+her half-lowered lashes.
+
+“I won’t go unless it is my party, Lucy,” she said. “You must let me
+pay.”
+
+“A detail,” murmured Pyne, crossing and standing beside her.
+
+Interest now became centred upon the preparations being made by Mrs.
+Sin. From the attaché case she took out a lacquered box, silken-lined
+like a jewel-casket. It contained four singular-looking pipes, the
+parts of which she began to fit together. The first and largest of
+these had a thick bamboo stem, an amber mouthpiece, and a tiny,
+disproportionate bowl of brass. The second was much smaller and was of
+some dark, highly-polished wood, mounted with silver conceived in an
+ornate Chinese design representing a long-tailed lizard. The mouthpiece
+was of jade. The third and fourth pipes were yet smaller, a perfectly
+matched pair in figured ivory of exquisite workmanship, delicately
+gold-mounted.
+
+“These for the ladies,” said Mrs. Sin, holding up the pair.
+“You”—glancing at Kilfane—“have got your own pipe, I know.”
+
+She laid them upon the tray, and now took out of the case a little
+copper lamp, a smaller lacquered box and a silver spatula, her jewelled
+fingers handling the queer implements with a familiarity bred of habit.
+
+“What a strange woman!” whispered Rita to Pyne. “Is she an oriental?”
+
+“Cuban-Jewess,” he replied in a low voice.
+
+Mrs. Sin carefully lighted the lamp, which burned with a short, bluish
+flame, and, opening the lacquered box, she dipped the spatula into the
+thick gummy substance which it contained and twisted the little
+instrument round and round between her fingers, presently withdrawing
+it with a globule of _chandu_, about the size of a bean, adhering to
+the end. She glanced aside at Kilfane.
+
+“Chinese way, eh?” she said.
+
+She began to twirl the prepared opium above the flame of the lamp. From
+it a slight, sickly smelling vapor arose. No one spoke, but all watched
+her closely; and Rita was conscious of a growing, pleasurable
+excitement. When by evaporation the _chandu_ had become reduced to the
+size of a small pea, and a vague spirituous blue flame began to dance
+round the end of the spatula, Mrs. Sin pressed it adroitly into the
+tiny bowl of one of the ivory pipes, having first held the bowl
+inverted for a moment over the lamp. She turned to Rita.
+
+“The guest of the evening,” she said. “Do not be afraid. Inhale—oh, so
+gentle—and blow the smoke from the nostrils. You know how to smoke?”
+
+“The same as a cigarette?” asked Rita excitedly, as Mrs. Sin bent over
+her.
+
+“The same, but very, very gentle.”
+
+Rita took the pipe and raised the mouthpiece to the lips.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+IN THE SHADE OF THE LONELY PALM
+
+
+Persian opium of good quality contains from ten to fifteen percent
+morphine, and _chandu_ made from opium of Yezd would contain perhaps
+twenty-five per cent of this potent drug; but because in the act of
+smoking distillation occurs, nothing like this quantity of morphine
+reaches the smoker. To the distilling process, also, may be due the
+different symptoms resulting from smoking _chandu_ and injecting
+morphia—or drinking tincture of opium, as De Quincey did.
+
+Rita found the flavor of the preparation to be not entirely unpleasant.
+Having overcome an initial aversion, caused by its marked medicinal
+tang, she grew reconciled to it and finished her first smoke without
+experiencing any other effect than a sensation of placid contentment.
+Deftly, Mrs. Sin renewed the pipe. Silence had fallen upon the party.
+
+The second “pill” was no more than half consumed when a growing feeling
+of nausea seized upon the novice, becoming so marked that she dropped
+the ivory pipe weakly and uttered a faint moan.
+
+Instantly, silently, Mrs. Sin was beside her.
+
+“Lean forward—so,” she whispered, softly, as if fearful of intruding
+her voice upon these sacred rites. “In a moment you will be better.
+Then, if you feel faint, lie back. It is the sleep. Do not fight
+against it.”
+
+The influence of the stronger will prevailed. Self-control and judgment
+are qualities among the first to succumb to opium. Rita ceased to think
+longingly of the clean, fresh air, of escape from these sickly fumes
+which seemed now to fill the room with a moving vacuum. She bent
+forward, her chin resting upon her breast, and gradually the deathly
+sickness passed. Mentally, she underwent a change, too. From an active
+state of resistance the ego traversed a descending curve ending in
+absolute passivity. The floor had seemingly begun to revolve and was
+moving insidiously, so that the pattern of the carpet formed a series
+of concentric rings. She found this imaginary phenomenon to be soothing
+rather than otherwise, and resigned herself almost eagerly to the
+delusion.
+
+Mrs. Sin allowed her to fall back upon the cushions—so gently and so
+slowly that the operation appeared to occupy several minutes and to
+resemble that of sinking into innumerable layers of swansdown. The
+sinuous figure bending over her grew taller with the passage of each
+minute, until the dark eyes of Mrs. Sin were looking down at Rita from
+a dizzy elevation. As often occurs in the case of a neurotic subject,
+delusion as to time and space had followed the depression of the
+sensory cells.
+
+But surely, she mused, this could not be Mrs. Sin who towered so
+loftily above her. Of course, how absurd to imagine that a woman could
+remain motionless for so many hours. And Rita thought, now, that she
+had been lying for several hours beneath the shadow of that tall,
+graceful, and protective shape.
+
+Why—it was a slender palm-tree, which stretched its fanlike foliage
+over her! Far, far above her head the long, dusty green fronds
+projected from the mast-like trunk. The sun, a ball of fiery brass,
+burned directly in the zenith, so that the shadow of the foliage lay
+like a carpet about her feet. That which she had mistaken for the
+ever-receding eyes of Mrs. Sin, wondering with a delightful vagueness
+why they seemed constantly to change color, proved to be a pair of
+brilliantly plumaged parrakeets perched upon a lofty branch of the
+palm.
+
+This was an equatorial noon, and even if she had not found herself to
+be under the influence of a delicious abstraction Rita would not have
+moved; for, excepting the friendly palm, not another vestige of
+vegetation was visible right away to the horizon; nothing but an ocean
+of sand whereon no living thing moved. She and the parrakeets were
+alone in the heart of the Great Sahara.
+
+But stay! Many, many miles away, a speck on the dusty carpet of the
+desert, something moved! Hours must elapse before that tiny figure,
+provided it were approaching, could reach the solitary palm.
+Delightedly, Rita contemplated the infinity of time. Even if the figure
+moved ever so slowly, she should be waiting there beneath the palm to
+witness its arrival. Already, she had been there for a period which she
+was far too indolent to strive to compute—a week, perhaps. She turned
+her attention to the parrakeets. One of them was moving, and she noted
+with delight that it had perceived her far below and was endeavoring to
+draw the attention of its less observant companion to her presence. For
+many hours she lay watching it and wondering why, since the one bird
+was so singularly intelligent, its companion was equally dull. When she
+lowered her eyes and looked out again across the sands, the figure had
+approached so close as to be recognizable.
+
+It was that of Mrs. Sin. Rita appreciated the fitness of her presence,
+and experienced no surprise, only a mild curiosity. This curiosity was
+not concerned with Mrs. Sin herself, but with the nature of the burden
+which she bore upon her head.
+
+She was dressed in a manner which Rita dreamily thought would have been
+inadequate in England, or even in Cuba, but which was appropriate in
+the Great Sahara. How exquisitely she carried herself, mused the
+dreamer; no doubt this fine carriage was due in part to her wearing
+golden shoes with heels like stilts, and in part to her having been
+trained to bear heavy burdens upon her head. Rita remembered that Sir
+Lucien had once described to her the elegant deportment of the Arab
+women, ascribing it to their custom of carrying water-jars in that way.
+
+The appearance of the speck on the horizon had marked the height of her
+trance. Her recognition of Mrs. Sin had signalized the decline of the
+_chandu_ influence. Now, the intrusion of a definite, uncontorted
+memory was evidence of returning cerebral activity.
+
+Rita had no recollection of the sunset; indeed, she had failed to
+perceive any change in the form and position of the shadow cast by the
+foliage. It had spread, an ebony patch, equally about the bole of the
+tree, so that the sun must have been immediately overhead. But, of
+course, she had lain watching the parrakeets for several hours, and now
+night had fallen. The desert mounds were touched with silver, the sky
+was a nest of diamonds, and the moon cast a shadow of the palm like a
+bar of ebony right across the prospect to the rim of the sky dome.
+
+Mrs. Sin stood before her, one half of her lithe body concealed by this
+strange black shadow and the other half gleaming in the moonlight so
+that she resembled a beautiful ivory statue which some iconoclast had
+cut in two.
+
+Placing her burden upon the ground, Mrs. Sin knelt down before Rita and
+reverently kissed her hand, whispering: “I am your slave, my poppy
+queen.”
+
+She spoke in a strange language, no doubt some African tongue, but one
+which Rita understood perfectly. Then she laid one hand upon the object
+which she had carried on her head, and which now proved to be a large
+lacquered casket covered with Chinese figures and bound by three hoops
+of gold. It had a very curious shape.
+
+“Do you command that the chest be opened?” she asked.
+
+“Yes,” answered Rita languidly.
+
+Mrs. Sin threw up the lid, and from the interior of the casket which,
+because of the glare of the moon light, seemed every moment to assume a
+new form, drew out a bronze lamp.
+
+“The sacred lamp,” she whispered, and placed it on the sand. “Do you
+command that it be lighted?”
+
+Rita inclined her head.
+
+The lamp became lighted; in what manner she did not observe, nor was
+she curious to learn. Next from the large casket Mrs. Sin took another
+smaller casket and a very long, tapering silver bodkin. The first
+casket had perceptibly increased in size. It was certainly much larger
+than Rita had supposed; for now out from its shadowy interior Mrs. Sin
+began to take pipes—long pipes and short pipes, pipes of gold and pipes
+of silver, pipes of ivory and pipes of jade. Some were carved to
+represent the heads of demons, some had the bodies of serpents wreathed
+about them; others were encrusted with precious gems, and filled the
+night with the venomous sheen of emeralds, the blood-rays of rubies and
+golden glow of topaz, while the spear-points of diamonds flashed a
+challenge to the stars.
+
+“Do you command that the pipes be lighted?” asked the harsh voice.
+
+Rita desired to answer, “No,” but heard herself saying, “Yes.”
+
+Thereupon, from a thousand bowls, linking that lonely palm to the
+remote horizon, a thousand elfin fires arose—blue-tongued and
+spirituous. Grey pencilings of smoke stole straightly upward to the
+sky, so that look where she would Rita could discern nothing but these
+countless thin, faintly wavering, vertical lines of vapor.
+
+The dimensions of the lacquered casket had increased so vastly as to
+conceal the kneeling figure of Mrs. Sin, and staring at it wonderingly,
+Rita suddenly perceived that it was not an ordinary casket. She knew at
+last why its shape had struck her as being unusual.
+
+It was a Chinese coffin.
+
+The smell of the burning opium was stifling her. Those remorseless
+threads of smoke were closing in, twining themselves about her throat.
+It was becoming cold, too, and the moonlight was growing dim. The
+position of the moon had changed, of course, as the night had stolen on
+towards morning, and now it hung dimly before her. The smoke obscured
+it.
+
+But was this smoke obscuring the moon? Rita moved her hands for the
+first time since she had found herself under the palm tree, weakly
+fending off those vaporous tentacles which were seeking to entwine
+themselves about her throat. Of course, it was not smoke obscuring the
+moon, she decided; it was a lamp, upheld by an ivory figure—a lamp with
+a Chinese shade.
+
+A subdued roaring sound became audible; and this was occasioned by the
+gas fire, burning behind the Japanese screen on which gaily plumaged
+birds sported in the branches of golden palms. Rita raised her hands to
+her eyes. Mist obscured her sight. Swiftly, now, reality was asserting
+itself and banishing the phantasmagoria conjured up by _chandu_.
+
+In her dim, cushioned corner Mollie Gretna lay back against the wall,
+her face pale and her weak mouth foolishly agape. Cyrus Kilfane was
+indistinguishable from the pile of rugs amid which he sprawled by the
+table, and of Sir Lucien Pyne nothing was to be seen but the
+outstretched legs and feet which projected grotesquely from a recess.
+Seated, oriental fashion, upon an improvised divan near the grand piano
+and propped up by a number of garish cushions, Rita beheld Mrs. Sin.
+The long bamboo pipe had fallen from her listless fingers. Her face
+wore an expression of mystic rapture like that characterizing the
+features of some Chinese Buddhas.
+
+Fear, unaccountable but uncontrollable, suddenly seized upon Rita. She
+felt weak and dizzy, but she struggled partly upright.
+
+“Lucy!” she whispered.
+
+Her voice was not under control, and once more she strove to call to
+Pyne.
+
+“Lucy!” came the hoarse whisper again.
+
+The fire continued its muted roaring, but no other sound answered to
+the appeal. A horror of the companionship in which she found herself
+thereupon took possession of the girl. She must escape from these
+sleepers, whose spirits had been expelled by the potent necromancer,
+opium, from these empty tenements whose occupants had fled. The idea of
+the cool night air in the open streets was delicious.
+
+She staggered to her feet, swaying drunkenly, but determined to reach
+the door. She shuddered, because of a feeling of internal chill which
+assailed her, but step by step crept across the room, opened the door,
+and tottered out into the hallway. There was no sound in the flat.
+Presumably Kilfane’s man had retired, or perhaps he, too, was a
+devotee.
+
+Rita’s fur coat hung upon the rack, and although her fingers appeared
+to have lost all their strength and her arm to have become weak as that
+of an infant, she succeeded in detaching the coat from the hook. Not
+pausing to put it on, she opened the door and stumbled out on to the
+darkened landing. Whereas her first impulse had been to awaken someone,
+preferably Sir Lucien, now her sole desire was to escape undetected.
+
+She began to feel less dizzy, and having paused for a moment on the
+landing, she succeeded in getting her coat on. Then she closed the door
+as quietly as possible, and clutching the handrail began to grope her
+way downstairs. There was only one flight, she remembered, and a short
+passage leading to the street door. She reached the passage without
+mishap, and saw a faint light ahead.
+
+The fastenings gave her some trouble, but finally her efforts were
+successful, and she found herself standing in deserted Duke Street.
+There was no moon, but the sky was cloudless. She had no idea of the
+time, but because of the stillness of the surrounding streets she knew
+that it must be very late. She set out for her flat, walking slowly and
+wondering what explanation she should offer if a constable observed
+her.
+
+Oxford Street showed deserted as far as the eye could reach, and her
+light footsteps seemed to awaken a hundred echoes. Having proceeded for
+some distance without meeting anyone, she observed—and experienced a
+childish alarm—the head-lights of an approaching car. Instantly the
+idea of hiding presented itself to her, but so rapidly did the big
+automobile speed along the empty thoroughfare that Rita was just
+passing a street lamp as the car raced by, and she must therefore have
+been clearly visible to the occupants.
+
+Never for a moment glancing aside, Rita pressed on as quickly as she
+could. Then her vague alarm became actual terror. She heard the brakes
+being applied to the car, and heard the gritty sound of the tires upon
+the roadway as the vehicle’s headlong progress was suddenly checked.
+She had been seen—perhaps recognized, and whoever was in the car
+proposed to return to speak to her.
+
+If her strength had allowed she would have run, but now it threatened
+to desert her altogether and she tottered weakly. A pattering of
+footsteps came from behind. Someone was running back to overtake her.
+Recognizing escape to be impossible, Rita turned just as the runner
+came up with her.
+
+“Rita!” he cried, rather breathlessly. “Miss Dresden!”
+
+She stood very still, looking at the speaker.
+
+It was Monte Irvin.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+METAMORPHOSIS
+
+
+As Irvin seized her hands and looked at her eagerly, half-fearfully,
+Rita achieved sufficient composure to speak.
+
+“Oh, Mr. Irvin,” she said, and found that her voice was not entirely
+normal, “what must you think—”
+
+He continued to hold her hands, and:
+
+“I think you are very indiscreet to be out alone at three o’clock in
+the morning,” he answered gently. “I was recalled to London by urgent
+business, and returned by road—fortunately, since I have met you.”
+
+“How can I explain—”
+
+“I don’t ask you to explain—Miss Dresden. I have no right and no desire
+to ask. But I wish I had the right to advise you.”
+
+“How good you are,” she began, “and I—”
+
+Her voice failed her completely, and her sensitive lips began to
+tremble. Monte Irvin drew her arm under his own and led her back to
+meet the car, which the chauffeur had turned and which was now
+approaching.
+
+“I will drive you home,” he said, “and if I may call in the morning. I
+should like to do so.”
+
+Rita nodded. She could not trust herself to speak again. And having
+placed her in the car, Monte Irvin sat beside her, reclaiming her hand
+and grasping it reassuringly and sympathetically throughout the short
+drive. They parted at her door.
+
+“Good night,” said Irvin, speaking very deliberately because of an
+almost uncontrollable desire which possessed him to take Rita in his
+arms, to hold her fast, to protect her from her own pathetic self and
+from those influences, dimly perceived about her, but which intuitively
+he knew to be evil.
+
+“If I call at eleven will that be too early?”
+
+“No,” she whispered. “Please come early. There is a matinee tomorrow.”
+
+“You mean today,” he corrected. “Poor little girl, how tired you will
+be. Good night.”
+
+“Good night,” she said, almost inaudibly.
+
+She entered, and, having closed the door, stood leaning against it for
+several minutes. Bleakness and nausea threatened to overcome her anew,
+and she felt that if she essayed another step she must collapse upon
+the floor. Her maid was in bed, and had not been awakened by Rita’s
+entrance. After a time she managed to grope her way to her bedroom,
+where, turning up the light, she sank down helplessly upon the bed.
+
+Her mental state was peculiar, and her thoughts revolved about the
+journey from Oxford Street homeward. A thousand times she mentally
+repeated the journey, speaking the same words over and over again, and
+hearing Monte Irvin’s replies.
+
+In those few minutes during which they had been together her sentiments
+in regard to him had undergone a change. She had always respected
+Irvin, but this respect had been curiously compounded of the personal
+and the mercenary; his well-ordered establishment at Prince’s Gate had
+loomed behind the figure of the man forming a pleasing background to
+the portrait. Without being showy he was a splendid “match” for any
+woman. His wife would have access to good society, and would enjoy
+every luxury that wealth could procure. This was the picture lovingly
+painted and constantly retouched by Rita’s mother.
+
+Now it had vanished. The background was gone, and only the man
+remained; the strong, reserved man whose deep voice had spoken so
+gently, whose devotion was so true and unselfish that he only sought to
+shield and protect her from follies the nature of which he did not even
+seek to learn. She was stripped of her vanity, and felt loathsome and
+unworthy of such a love.
+
+“Oh,” she moaned, rocking to and fro. “I hate myself—I hate myself!”
+
+Now that the victory so long desired seemed at last about to be won,
+she hesitated to grasp the prize. One solacing reflection she had. She
+would put the errors of the past behind her. Many times of late she had
+found herself longing to be done with the feverish life of the stage.
+Envied by those who had been her companions in the old chorus days, and
+any one of whom would have counted ambition crowned could she have
+played _The Maid of the Masque_, Rita thought otherwise. The ducal
+mansions and rose-bowered Riviera hotels through which she moved
+nightly had no charm for her; she sighed for reality, and had wearied
+long ago of the canvas palaces and the artificial Southern moonlight.
+In fact, stage life had never truly appealed to her—save as a means to
+an end.
+
+Again and yet again her weary brain reviewed the episodes of the night
+since she had left Cyrus Kilfane’s flat, so that nearly an hour had
+elapsed before she felt capable of the operation of undressing.
+Finally, however, she undressed, shuddering although the room was
+warmed by an electric radiator. The weakness and sickness had left her,
+but she was quite wide awake, although her brain demanded rest from
+that incessant review of the events of the evening.
+
+She put on a warm wrap and seated herself at the dressing-table,
+studying her face critically. She saw that she was somewhat pale and
+that she had an indefinable air of dishevelment. Also she detected
+shadows beneath her eyes, the pupils of which were curiously
+contracted. Automatically, as a result of habit, she unlocked her
+jewel-case and took out a tiny phial containing minute cachets. She
+shook several out on to the palm of her hand, and then paused, staring
+at her reflection in the mirror.
+
+For fully half a minute she hesitated, then:
+
+“I shall never close my eyes all night if I don’t!” she whispered, as
+if in reply to a spoken protest, “and I should be a wreck in the
+morning.”
+
+Thus, in the very apogee of her resolve to reform, did she drive one
+more rivet into the manacles which held her captive to Kazmah and
+Company.
+
+Upon a little spirit-stove stood a covered vessel containing milk,
+which was placed there nightly by Rita’s maid. She lighted the burner
+and warmed the milk. Then, swallowing three of the cachets from the
+phial, she drank the milk. Each cachet contained three decigrams of
+malourea, the insidious drug notorious under its trade name of Veronal.
+
+She slept deeply, and was not awakened until ten o’clock. Her breakfast
+consisted of a cup of strong coffee; but when Monte Irvin arrived at
+eleven Rita exhibited no sign of nerve exhaustion. She looked bright
+and charming, and Irvin’s heart leapt hotly in his breast at sight of
+her.
+
+Following some desultory and unnatural conversation:
+
+“May I speak quite frankly to you?” he said, drawing his chair nearer
+to the settee upon which Rita was seated.
+
+She glanced at him swiftly. “Of course,” she replied. “Is it—about my
+late hours?”
+
+He shook his head, smiling rather sadly.
+
+“That is only one phase of your rather feverish life, little girl,” he
+said. “I don’t mean that I want to lecture you or reproach you. I only
+want to ask you if you are satisfied?”
+
+“Satisfied?” echoed Rita, twirling a tassel that hung from a cushion
+beside her.
+
+“Yes. You have achieved success in your profession.” He strove in vain
+to banish bitterness from his voice. “You are a ‘star,’ and your
+photograph is to be seen frequently in the smartest illustrated papers.
+You are clever and beautiful and have hosts of admirers. But—are you
+satisfied?”
+
+She stared absently at the silk tassel, twirling it about her white
+fingers more and more rapidly. Then:
+
+“No,” she answered softly.
+
+Monte Irvin hesitated for a moment ere bending forward and grasping her
+hands.
+
+“I am glad you are not satisfied,” he whispered. “I always knew you had
+a soul for something higher—better.”
+
+She avoided his ardent gaze, but he moved to the settee beside her and
+looked into the bewitching face.
+
+“Would it be a great sacrifice to give it all up?” he whispered in a
+yet lower tone.
+
+Rita shook her head, persistently staring at the tassel.
+
+“For me?”
+
+She gave him a swift, half-frightened glance, pressing her hands
+against his breast and leaning, back.
+
+“Oh, you don’t know me—you don’t know me!” she said, the good that was
+in her touched to life by the man’s sincerity. “I—don’t deserve it.”
+
+“Rita!” he murmured. “I won’t hear you say that!”
+
+“You know nothing about my friends—about my life—”
+
+“I know that I want you for my wife, so that I can protect you from
+those ‘friends.’” He took her in his arms, and she surrendered her lips
+to him.
+
+“My sweet little girl,” he whispered. “I cannot believe it—yet.”
+
+But the die was cast, and when Rita went to the theatre to dress for
+the afternoon performance she was pledged to sever her connection with
+the stage on the termination of her contract. She had luncheon with
+Monte Irvin, and had listened almost dazedly to his plans for the
+future. His wealth was even greater than her mother had estimated it to
+be, and Rita’s most cherished dreams were dwarfed by the prospects
+which Monte Irvin opened up before her. It almost seemed as though he
+knew and shared her dearest ambitions. She was to winter beneath real
+Southern palms and to possess a cruising yacht, not one of boards and
+canvas like that which figured in _The Maid of the Masque_.
+
+Real Southern palms, she mused guiltily, not those conjured up by
+opium. That he was solicitous for her health the nature of his schemes
+revealed. They were to visit Switzerland, and proceed thence to a villa
+which he owned in Italy. Christmas they would spend in Cairo, explore
+the Nile to Assouan in a private _dahabîyeh_, and return home via the
+Riviera in time to greet the English spring. Rita’s delicate, swiftly
+changing color, her almost ethereal figure, her intense nervous energy
+he ascribed to a delicate constitution.
+
+She wondered if she would ever dare to tell him the truth; if she ought
+to tell him.
+
+Pyne came to her dressing-room just before the performance began. He
+had telephoned at an early hour in the morning, and had learned from
+her maid that Rita had come home safely and was asleep. Rita had
+expected him; but the influence of Monte Irvin, from whom she had
+parted at the stage-door, had prevailed until she actually heard Sir
+Lucien’s voice in the corridor. She had resolutely refrained from
+looking at the little jewelled casket, engraved “From Lucy to Rita,”
+which lay in her make-up box upon the table. But the imminence of an
+ordeal which she dreaded intensely weakened her resolution. She swiftly
+dipped a little nail-file into the white powder which the box
+contained, and when Pyne came in she turned to him composedly.
+
+“I am so sorry if I gave you a scare last night, Lucy,” she said. “But
+I woke up feeling sick, and I had to go out into the fresh air.”
+
+“I was certainly alarmed,” drawled Pyne, whose swarthy face looked more
+than usually worn in the hard light created by the competition between
+the dressing-room lamps and the grey wintry daylight which crept
+through the windows. “Do you feel quite fit again?”
+
+“Quite, thanks.” Rita glanced at a ring which she had not possessed
+three hours before. “Oh, Lucy—I don’t know how to tell you—”
+
+She turned in her chair, looking up wistfully at Pyne, who was standing
+behind her. His jaw hardened, and his glance sought the white hand upon
+which the costly gems glittered. He coughed nervously.
+
+“Perhaps”—his drawling manner of speech temporarily deserted him; he
+spoke jerkily—“perhaps—I can guess.”
+
+She watched him in a pathetic way, and there was a threat of tears in
+her beautiful eyes; for whatever his earlier intentions may have been,
+Sir Lucien had proved a staunch friend and, according to his own
+peculiar code, an honorable lover.
+
+“Is it—Irvin?” he asked jerkily.
+
+Rita nodded, and a tear glistened upon her darkened lashes.
+
+Sir Lucien cleared his throat again, then coolly extended his hand,
+once more master of his emotions.
+
+“Congratulations, Rita,” he said. “The better man wins. I hope you will
+be very happy.”
+
+He turned and walked quietly out of the dressing-room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+LIMEHOUSE
+
+
+It was on the following Tuesday evening that Mrs. Sin came to the
+theatre, accompanied by Mollie Gretna. Rita instructed that she should
+be shown up to the dressing-room. The personality of this singular
+woman interested her keenly. Mrs. Sin was well known in certain
+Bohemian quarters, but was always spoken of as one speaks of a pet
+vice. Not to know Mrs. Sin was to be outside the magic circle which
+embraced the exclusively smart people who practiced the latest
+absurdities.
+
+The so-called artistic temperament is compounded of great strength and
+great weakness; its virtues are whiter than those of ordinary people
+and its vices blacker. For such a personality Mrs. Sin embodied the
+idea of secret pleasure. Her bold good looks repelled Rita, but the
+knowledge in her dark eyes was alluring.
+
+“I arrange for you for Saturday night,” she said. “Cy Kilfane is coming
+with Mollie, and you bring—”
+
+“Oh,” replied Rita hesitatingly, “I am sorry you have gone to so much
+trouble.”
+
+“No trouble, my dear,” Mrs. Sin assured her. “Just a little matter of
+business, and you can pay the bill when it suits you.”
+
+“I am frightfully excited!” cried Mollie Gretna. “It is so nice of you
+to have asked me to join your party. Of course Cy goes practically
+every week, but I have always wanted another girl to go with. Oh, I
+shall be in a perfectly delicious panic when I find myself all among
+funny Chinamen and things! I think there is something so magnificently
+wicked-looking about a pigtail—and the very name of Limehouse thrills
+me to the soul!”
+
+That fixity of purpose which had enabled Rita to avoid the cunning
+snares set for her feet and to snatch triumph from the very cauldron of
+shame without burning her fingers availed her not at all in dealing
+with Mrs. Sin. The image of Monte receded before this appeal to the
+secret pleasure-loving woman, of insatiable curiosity, primitive and
+unmoral, who dwells, according to a modern cynic philosopher, within
+every daughter of Eve touched by the fire of genius.
+
+She accepted the arrangement for Saturday, and before her visitors had
+left the dressing-room her mind was busy with plausible deceits to
+cover the sojourn in Chinatown. Something of Mollie Gretna’s foolish
+enthusiasm had communicated itself to Rita.
+
+Later in the evening Sir Lucien called, and on hearing of the scheme
+grew silent. Rita glancing at his reflection in the mirror, detected a
+black and angry look upon his face. She turned to him.
+
+“Why, Lucy,” she said, “don’t you want me to go?”
+
+He smiled in his sardonic fashion.
+
+“Your wishes are mine, Rita,” he replied.
+
+She was watching him closely.
+
+“But you don’t seem keen,” she persisted. “Are you angry with me?”
+
+“Angry?”
+
+“We are still friends, aren’t we?”
+
+“Of course. Do you doubt my friendship?”
+
+Rita’s maid came in to assist her in changing for the third act, and
+Pyne went out of the room. But, in spite of his assurances, Rita could
+not forget that fierce, almost savage expression which had appeared
+upon his face when she had told him of Mrs. Sin’s visit.
+
+Later she taxed him on the point, but he suffered her inquiry with
+imperturbable sangfroid, and she found herself no wiser respecting the
+cause of his annoyance. Painful twinges of conscience came during the
+ensuing days, when she found herself in her fiancé’s company, but she
+never once seriously contemplated dropping the acquaintance of Mrs.
+Sin.
+
+She thought, vaguely, as she had many times thought before, of cutting
+adrift from the entire clique, but there was no return of that sincere
+emotional desire to reform which she had experienced on the day that
+Monte Irvin had taken her hand, in blind trust, and had asked her to be
+his wife. Had she analyzed, or been capable of analyzing, her
+intentions with regard to the future, she would have learned that daily
+they inclined more and more towards compromise. The drug habit was
+sapping will and weakening morale, insidiously, imperceptibly. She was
+caught in a current of that “sacred river” seen in an opium-trance by
+Coleridge, and which ran—
+
+“Through caverns measureless to man
+Down to a sunless sea.”
+
+
+Pyne’s big car was at the stage-door on the fateful Saturday night, for
+Rita had brought her dressing-case to the theatre, and having called
+for Kilfane and Mollie Gretna they were to proceed direct to Limehouse.
+
+Rita, as she entered the car, noticed that Juan Mareno, Sir Lucien’s
+man, and not the chauffeur with whom she was acquainted, sat at the
+wheel. As they drove off:
+
+“Why is Mareno driving tonight, Lucy?” she asked.
+
+Sir Lucien glanced aside at her.
+
+“He is in my confidence,” he replied. “Fraser is not.”
+
+“Oh, I see. You don’t want Fraser to know about the Limehouse journey?”
+
+“Naturally I don’t. He would talk to all the men at the garage, and
+from South Audley Street the tit-bit of scandal would percolate through
+every stratum of society.”
+
+Rita was silent for a few moments, then:
+
+“Were you thinking about Monte?” she asked diffidently.
+
+Pyne laughed.
+
+“He would scarcely approve, would he?”
+
+“No,” replied Rita. “Was that why you were angry when I told you I was
+going?”
+
+“This ‘anger,’ to which you constantly revert, had no existence outside
+your own imagination, Rita. But” he hesitated—“you will have to
+consider your position, dear, now that you are the future Mrs. Monte.”
+Rita felt her cheeks flush, and she did not reply immediately.
+
+“I don’t understand you, Lucy,” she declared at last. “How odd you
+are.”
+
+“Am I? Well, never mind. We will talk about my eccentricity later. Here
+is Cyrus.”
+
+Kilfane was standing in the entrance to the stage door of the theatre
+at which he was playing. As the car drew up he lifted two leather grips
+on to the step, and Mareno, descending, took charge of them.
+
+“Come along, Mollie,” said Kilfane, looking back.
+
+Miss Gretna, very excited, ran out and got into the car beside Rita.
+Pyne lowered two of the collapsible seats for Kilfane and himself, and
+the party set out for Limehouse.
+
+“Oh!” cried the fair-haired Mollie, grasping Rita’s hand, “my heart
+began palpitating with excitement the moment I woke up this morning!
+How calm you are, dear.”
+
+“I am only calm outside,” laughed Rita.
+
+The _joie de vivre_ and apparently unimpaired vitality, of this woman,
+for whom (if half that which rumor whispered were true) vice had no
+secrets, astonished Rita. Her physical resources were unusual, no
+doubt, because the demand made upon them by her mental activities was
+slight.
+
+As the car sped along the Strand, where theatre-goers might still be
+seen making for tube, omnibus, and tramcar, and entered Fleet Street,
+where the car and taxicab traffic was less, a mutual silence fell upon
+the party. Two at least of the travellers were watching the lighted
+windows of the great newspaper offices with a vague sense of
+foreboding, and thinking how, bound upon a secret purpose, they were
+passing along the avenue of publicity. It is well that man lacks
+prescience. Neither Rita nor Sir Lucien could divine that a day was
+shortly to come when the hidden presses which throbbed about them that
+night should be busy with the story of the murder of one and
+disappearance of the other.
+
+Around St. Paul’s Churchyard whirled the car, its engine running
+strongly and almost noiselessly. The great bell of St. Paul’s boomed
+out the half-hour.
+
+“Oh!” cried Mollie Gretna, “how that made me jump! What a beautifully
+gloomy sound!”
+
+Kilfane murmured some inaudible reply, but neither Pyne nor Rita spoke.
+
+Cornhill and Leadenhall Street, along which presently their route lay,
+offered a prospect of lamp-lighted emptiness, but at Aldgate they found
+themselves amid East End throngs which afforded a marked contrast to
+those crowding theatreland; and from thence through Whitechapel and the
+seemingly endless Commercial Road it was a different world into which
+they had penetrated.
+
+Rita hitherto had never seen the East End on a Saturday night, and the
+spectacle afforded by these busy marts, lighted by naphtha flames, in
+whose smoky glare Jews and Jewesses, Poles, Swedes, Easterns, dagoes,
+and halfcastes moved feverishly, was a fascinating one. She thought how
+utterly alien they were, the men and women of a world unknown to that
+society upon whose borders she dwelled; she wondered how they lived,
+where they lived, why they lived. The wet pavements were crowded with
+nondescript humanity, the night was filled with the unmusical voices of
+Hebrew hucksters, and the air laden with the smoky odor of their lamps.
+Tramcars and motorbuses were packed unwholesomely with these children
+of shadowland drawn together from the seven seas by the magnet of
+London.
+
+She glanced at Pyne, but he was seemingly lost in abstraction, and
+Kilfane appeared to be asleep. Mollie Gretna was staring eagerly out on
+the opposite side of the car at a group of three dago sailors, whom
+Mareno had nearly run down, but she turned at that moment and caught
+Rita’s glance.
+
+“Don’t you simply love it!” she cried. “Some of those men were really
+handsome, dear. If they would only wash I am sure I could adore them!”
+
+“Even such charms as yours can be bought at too high a price,” drawled
+Sir Lucien. “They would gladly do murder for you, but never wash.”
+
+Crossing Limehouse Canal, the car swung to the right into West India
+Dock Road. The uproar of the commercial thoroughfare was left far
+behind. Dark, narrow streets and sinister-looking alleys lay right and
+left of them, and into one of the narrowest and least inviting of all
+Mareno turned the car.
+
+In the dimly-lighted doorway of a corner house the figure of a Chinaman
+showed as a motionless silhouette.
+
+“Oh!” sighed Mollie Gretna rapturously, “a Chinaman! I begin to feel
+deliciously sinful!”
+
+The car came to a standstill.
+
+“We get out here and walk,” said Sir Lucien. “It would not be wise to
+drive further. Mareno will deliver our baggage by hand presently.”
+
+“But we shall all be murdered,” cried Mollie, “murdered in cold blood!
+I am dreadfully frightened!”
+
+“Something of the kind is quite likely,” drawled Sir Lucien, “if you
+draw attention to our presence in the neighborhood so deliberately.
+Walk ahead, Kilfane, with Mollie. Rita and I will follow at a discreet
+distance. Leave the door ajar.”
+
+Temporarily subdued by Pyne’s icy manner, Miss Gretna became silent,
+and went on ahead with Cyrus Kilfane, who had preserved an almost
+unbroken silence throughout the journey. Rita and Sir Lucien followed
+slowly.
+
+“What a creepy neighborhood,” whispered Rita. “Look! Someone is
+standing in that doorway over there, watching us.”
+
+“Take no notice,” he replied. “A cat could not pass along this street
+unobserved by the Chinese, but they will not interfere with us provided
+we do not interfere with them.”
+
+Kilfane had turned to the right into a narrow court, at the entrance to
+which stood an iron pillar. As he and his companion passed under the
+lamp in a rusty bracket which projected from the wall, they vanished
+into a place of shadows. There was a ceaseless chorus of distant
+machinery, and above it rose the grinding and rattling solo of a steam
+winch. Once a siren hooted apparently quite near them, and looking
+upward at a tangled, indeterminable mass which overhung the street at
+this point, Rita suddenly recognized it for a ship’s bow-sprit.
+
+“Why,” she said, “we are right on the bank of the river!”
+
+“Not quite,” answered Pyne. “We are skirting a dock basin. We are
+nearly at our destination.”
+
+Passing in turn under the lamp, they entered the narrow court, and from
+a doorway immediately on the left a faint light shone out upon the wet
+pavement. Pyne pushed the door fully open and held it for Rita to
+enter. As she did so:
+
+“Hello! hello!” croaked a harsh voice. “Number one p’lice chop, lo! Sin
+Sin Wa!”
+
+The uncanny cracked voice proceeded to give an excellent imitation of a
+police whistle, and concluded with that of the clicking of castanets.
+
+“Shut the door, Lucy,” came the murmurous tones of Kilfane from the
+gloom of the stuffy little room, in the centre of which stood a stove
+wherefrom had proceeded the dim light shining out upon the pavement.
+“Light up, Sin Sin.”
+
+“Sin Sin Wa! Sin Sin Wa!” shrieked the voice, and again came the
+rattling of imaginary castanets. “Smartest leg in Buenos Ayres—Buenos
+Ayres—p’lice chop—p’lice chop, lo!”
+
+“Oh,” whispered Mollie Gretna, in the darkness, “I believe I am going
+to scream!”
+
+Pyne closed the door, and a dimly discernible figure on the opposite
+side of the room stooped and opened a little cupboard in which was a
+lighted ship’s lantern. The lantern being lifted out and set upon a
+rough table near the stove, it became possible to view the apartment
+and its occupants.
+
+It was a small, low-ceiled place, having two doors, one opening upon
+the street and the other upon a narrow, uncarpeted passage. The window
+was boarded up. The ceiling had once been whitewashed and a few limp,
+dark fragments of paper still adhering to the walls proved that some
+forgotten decorator had exercised his art upon them in the past. A
+piece of well-worn matting lay upon the floor, and there were two
+chairs, a table, and a number of empty tea-chests in the room.
+
+Upon one of the tea-chests placed beside the cupboard which had
+contained the lantern a Chinaman was seated. His skin was of so light a
+yellow color as to approximate to dirty white, and his face was
+pock-marked from neck to crown. He wore long, snake-like moustaches,
+which hung down below his chin. They grew from the extreme outer edges
+of his upper lip, the centre of which, usually the most hirsute, was
+hairless as the lip of an infant. He possessed the longest and thickest
+pigtail which could possibly grow upon a human scalp, and his left eye
+was permanently closed, so that a smile which adorned his extraordinary
+countenance seemed to lack the sympathy of his surviving eye, which,
+oblique, beady, held no mirth in its glittering depths.
+
+The garments of the one-eyed Chinaman, who sat complacently smiling at
+the visitors, consisted of a loose blouse, blue trousers tucked into
+grey socks, and a pair of those native, thick-soled slippers which
+suggest to a Western critic the acme of discomfort. A raven, black as a
+bird of ebony, perched upon the Chinaman’s shoulder, head a-tilt,
+surveying the newcomers with a beady, glittering left eye which
+strangely resembled the beady, glittering right eye of the Chinaman.
+For, singular, uncanny circumstance, this was a one-eyed raven which
+sat upon the shoulder of his one-eyed master!
+
+Mollie Gretna uttered a stifled cry. “Oh!” she whispered. “I knew I was
+going to scream!”
+
+The eye of Sin Sin Wa turned momentarily in her direction, but
+otherwise he did not stir a muscle.
+
+“Are you ready for us, Sin?” asked Sir Lucien.
+
+“All ready. Lola hate gotchee topside loom ready,” replied the Chinaman
+in a soft, crooning voice.
+
+“Go ahead, Kilfane,” directed Sir Lucien.
+
+He glanced at Rita, who was standing very near him, surveying the evil
+little room and its owner with ill-concealed disgust.
+
+“This is merely the foyer, Rita,” he said, smiling slightly. “The state
+apartments are upstairs and in the adjoining house.”
+
+“Oh,” she murmured—and no more.
+
+Kilfane and Mollie Gretna were passing through the inner doorway, and
+Mollie turned.
+
+“Isn’t it loathsomely delightful?” she cried.
+
+“Smartest leg in Buenos Ayres!” shrieked the raven. “Sin Sin, Sin Sin!”
+
+Uttering a frightened exclamation, Mollie disappeared along the
+passage. Sir Lucien indicated to Rita that she was to follow; and he,
+passing through last of the party, closed the door behind him.
+
+Sin Sin Wa never moved, and the raven, settling down upon the
+Chinaman’s shoulder, closed his serviceable eye.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+THE BLACK SMOKE
+
+
+Up an uncarpeted stair Cyrus Kilfane led the party, and into a kind of
+lumber-room lighted by a tin oil lamp and filled to overflowing with
+heterogeneous and unsavory rubbish. Here were garments, male and
+female, no less than five dilapidated bowler hats, more tea-chests,
+broken lamps, tattered fragments of cocoanut-matting, steel bed-laths
+and straw mattresses, ruins of chairs—the whole diffusing an
+indescribably unpleasant odor.
+
+Opening a cupboard door, Kilfane revealed a number of pendent, ragged
+garments, and two more bowler hats. Holding the garments aside, he
+banged upon the back of the cupboard—three blows, a pause, and then two
+blows.
+
+Following a brief interval, during which even Mollie Gretna was held
+silent by the strangeness of the proceedings.
+
+“Who is it?” inquired a muffled voice.
+
+“Cy and the crowd,” answered Kilfane.
+
+Thereupon ensued a grating noise, and hats and garments swung suddenly
+backward, revealing a doorway in which Mrs. Sin stood framed. She wore
+a Japanese kimona of embroidered green silk and a pair of green and
+gold brocaded slippers which possessed higher heels than Rita
+remembered to have seen even Mrs. Sin mounted upon before. Her ankles
+were bare, and it was impossible to determine in what manner she was
+clad beneath the kimona. Undoubtedly she had a certain dark beauty, of
+a bold, abandoned type.
+
+“Come right in,” she directed. “Mind your head, Lucy.”
+
+The quartette filed through into a carpeted corridor, and Mrs. Sin
+reclosed the false back of the cupboard, which, viewed from the other
+side, proved to be a door fitted into a recess in the corridor of the
+adjoining house. This recess ceased to exist when a second and heavier
+door was closed upon the first.
+
+“You know,” murmured Kilfane, “old Sin Sin has his uses, Lola. Those
+doors are perfectly made.”
+
+“Pooh!” scoffed the woman, with a flash of her dark eyes; “he is half a
+ship’s carpenter and half an ape!”
+
+She moved along the passage, her arm linked in that of Sir Lucien. The
+others followed, and:
+
+“Is she truly _married_ to that dreadful Chinaman?” whispered Mollie
+Gretna.
+
+“Yes, I believe so,” murmured Kilfane. “She is known as Mrs. Sin Sin
+Wa.”
+
+“Oh!” Mollie’s eyes opened widely. “I almost envy her! I have read that
+Chinamen tie their wives to beams in the roof and lash them with
+leather thongs until they swoon. I could die for a man who lashed me
+with leather thongs. Englishmen are so ridiculously gentle to women.”
+
+Opening a door on the left of the corridor, Mrs. Sin displayed a room
+screened off into three sections. One shaded lamp high up near the
+ceiling served to light all the cubicles, which were heated by small
+charcoal stoves. These cubicles were identical in shape and
+appointment, each being draped with quaint Chinese tapestry and
+containing rugs, a silken divan, an armchair, and a low, Eastern table.
+
+“Choose for yourself,” said Mrs. Sin, turning to Rita and Mollie
+Gretna. “Nobody else come tonight. You two in this room, eh? Next door
+each other for company.”
+
+She withdrew, leaving the two girls together. Mollie clasped her hands
+ecstatically.
+
+“Oh, my dear!” she said. “What do you think of it all?”
+
+“Well,” confessed Rita, looking about her, “personally I feel rather
+nervous.”
+
+“My dear!” cried Mollie. “_I_ am simply quivering with delicious
+terror!”
+
+Rita became silent again, looking about her, and listening. The harsh
+voice of the Cuban-Jewess could be heard from a neighboring room, but
+otherwise a perfect stillness reigned in the house of Sin Sin Wa. She
+remembered that Mrs. Sin had said, “It is quiet—so quiet.”
+
+“The idea of undressing and reclining on these divans in real oriental
+fashion,” declared Mollie, giggling, “makes me feel that I am an
+odalisque already. I have dreamed that I was an odalisque, dear—after
+smoking, you know. It was heavenly. At least, I don’t know that
+‘heavenly’ is quite the right word.”
+
+And now that evil spirit of abandonment came to Rita—communicated to
+her, possibly, by her companion. Dread, together with a certain sense
+of moral reluctance, departed, and she began to enjoy the adventure at
+last. It was as though something in the faintly perfumed atmosphere of
+the place had entered into her blood, driving out reserve and stifling
+conscience.
+
+When Sir Lucien reappeared she ran to him excitedly, her charming face
+flushed and her eyes sparkling.
+
+“Oh, Lucy,” she cried, “how long will our things be? I’m keen to
+smoke!”
+
+His jaw hardened, and when he spoke it was with a drawl more marked
+than usual.
+
+“Mareno will be here almost immediately,” he answered.
+
+The tone constituted a rebuff, and Rita’s coquetry deserted her,
+leaving her mortified and piqued. She stared at Pyne, biting her lip.
+
+“You don’t like me tonight,” she declared. “If I look ugly, it’s your
+fault; you told me to wear this horrid old costume!”
+
+He laughed in a forced, unnatural way.
+
+“You are quite well aware that you could never look otherwise than
+maddeningly beautiful,” he said harshly. “Do you want me to recall the
+fact to you again that you are shortly to be Monte Irvin’s wife—or
+should you prefer me to remind you that you have declined to be mine?”
+
+Turning slowly, he walked away, but:
+
+“Oh, Lucy!” whispered Rita.
+
+He paused, looking back.
+
+“I know now why you didn’t want me to come,” she said. “I—I’m sorry.”
+
+The hard look left Sir Lucien’s face immediately and was replaced by a
+curious, indefinable expression, an expression which rarely appeared
+there.
+
+“You only know half the reason,” he replied softly.
+
+At that moment Mrs. Sin came in, followed by Mareno carrying two
+dressing-cases. Mollie Gretna had run off to Kilfane, and could be
+heard talking loudly in another room; but, called by Mrs. Sin, she now
+returned, wide-eyed with excitement.
+
+Mrs. Sin cast a lightning glance at Sir Lucien, and then addressed
+Rita.
+
+“Which of these three rooms you choose?” she asked, revealing her teeth
+in one of those rapid smiles which were mirthless as the eternal smile
+of Sin Sin Wa.
+
+“Oh,” said Rita hurriedly, “I don’t know. Which do you want, Mollie?”
+
+“I love this end one!” cried Mollie. “It has cushions which simply reek
+of oriental voluptuousness and cruelty. It reminds me of a delicious
+book I have been reading called _Musk, Hashish, and Blood_.”
+
+“Hashish!” said Mrs. Sin, and laughed harshly. “One night you shall eat
+the hashish, and then—”
+
+She snapped her fingers, glancing from Rita to Pyne.
+
+“Oh, really? Is that a promise?” asked Mollie eagerly.
+
+“No, no!” answered Mrs. Sin. “It is a threat!”
+
+Something in the tone of her voice as she uttered the last four words
+in mock dramatic fashion caused Mollie and Rita to stare at one another
+questioningly. That suddenly altered tone had awakened an elusive
+memory, but neither of them could succeed in identifying it.
+
+Mareno, a lean, swarthy fellow, his foreign cast of countenance
+accentuated by close-cut side-whiskers, deposited Miss Gretna’s case in
+the cubicle which she had selected and, Rita pointing to that adjoining
+it, he disposed the second case beside the divan and departed silently.
+As the sound of a closing door reached them:
+
+“You notice how quiet it is?” asked Mrs. Sin.
+
+“Yes,” replied Rita. “It is extraordinarily quiet.”
+
+“This an empty house—‘To let,’” explained Mrs. Sin. “We watch it stay
+so. Sin the landlord, see? Windows all boarded up and everything
+padded. No sound outside, no sound inside. Sin call it the ‘House of a
+Hundred Raptures,’ after the one he have in Buenos Ayres.”
+
+The voice of Cyrus Kilfane came, querulous, from a neighboring room.
+
+“Lola, my dear, I am almost ready.”
+
+“Ho!” Mrs. Sin uttered a deep-toned laugh. “He is a glutton for
+_chandu!_ I am coming, Cy.”
+
+She turned and went out. Sir Lucien paused for a moment, permitting her
+to pass, and:
+
+“Good night, Rita,” he said in a low voice. “Happy dreams!”
+
+He moved away.
+
+“Lucy!” called Rita softly.
+
+“Yes?”
+
+“Is it—is it really safe here?”
+
+Pyne glanced over his shoulder towards the retreating figure of Mrs.
+Sin, then:
+
+“I shall be awake,” he replied. “I would rather you had not come, but
+since you are here you must go through with it.” He glanced again along
+the narrow passage created by the presence of the partitions, and spoke
+in a voice lower yet. “You have never really trusted me, Rita. You were
+wise. But you can trust me now. Good night, dear.”
+
+He walked out of the room and along the carpeted corridor to a little
+apartment at the back of the house, furnished comfortably but in
+execrably bad taste. A cheerful fire was burning in the grate, the flue
+of which had been ingeniously diverted by Sin Sin Wa so that the smoke
+issued from a chimney of the adjoining premises. On the mantelshelf,
+which was garishly draped, were a number of photographs of Mrs. Sin in
+Spanish dancing costume.
+
+Pyne seated himself in an armchair and lighted a cigarette. Except for
+the ticking of a clock the room was silent as a padded cell. Upon a
+little Moorish table beside a deep, low settee lay a complete
+opium-smoking outfit.
+
+Lolling back in the chair and crossing his legs, Sir Lucien became lost
+in abstraction, and he was thus seated when, some ten minutes later,
+Mrs. Sin came in.
+
+“Ah!” she said, her harsh voice softened to a whisper. “I wondered. So
+you wait to smoke with me?” Pyne slowly turned his head, staring at her
+as she stood in the doorway, one hand resting on her hip and her
+shapely figure boldly outlined by the kimono.
+
+“No,” he replied. “I don’t want to smoke. Are they all provided for?”
+
+Mrs. Sin shook her head.
+
+“Not Cy,” she said. “Two pipes are nothing to him. He will need two
+more—perhaps three. But you are not going to smoke?”
+
+“Not tonight, Lola.”
+
+She frowned, and was about to speak, when:
+
+“Lola, my dear,” came a distant, querulous murmur. “Give me another
+pipe.”
+
+Sin tossed her head, turned, and went out again. Sir Lucien lighted
+another cigarette. When finally the woman came back, Cyrus Kilfane had
+presumably attained the opium-smoker’s paradise, for Lola closed the
+door and seated herself upon the arm of Sir Lucien’s chair. She bent
+down, resting her dusky cheek against his.
+
+“You smoke with me?” she whispered coaxingly.
+
+“No, Lola, not tonight,” he said, patting her jewel-laden hand and
+looking aside into the dark eyes which were watching him intently.
+
+Mrs. Sin became silent for a few moments.
+
+“Something has changed in you,” she said at last. “You are
+different—lately.”
+
+“Indeed!” drawled Sir Lucien. “Possibly you are right. Others have said
+the same thing.”
+
+“You have lots of money now. Your investments have been good. You want
+to become respectable, eh?”
+
+Pyne smiled sardonically.
+
+“Respectability is a question of appearance,” he replied. “The change
+to which you refer would seem to go deeper.”
+
+“Very likely,” murmured Mrs. Sin. “I know why you don’t smoke. You have
+promised your pretty little friend that you will stay awake and see
+that nobody tries to cut her sweet white throat.”
+
+Sir Lucien listened imperturbably.
+
+“She is certainly nervous,” he admitted coolly. “I may add that I am
+sorry I brought her here.”
+
+“Oh,” said Mrs. Sin, her voice rising half a note. “Then why do you
+bring her to the House?”
+
+“She made the arrangement herself, and I took the easier path. I am
+considering your interests as much as my own, Lola. She is about to
+marry Monte Irvin, and if his suspicions were aroused he is quite
+capable of digging down to the ‘Hundred Raptures.’”
+
+“You brought her to Kazmah’s.”
+
+“She was not at that time engaged to Irvin.”
+
+“Ah, I see. And now everybody says you are changed. Yes, she is a
+charming friend.”
+
+Pyne looked up into the half-veiled dark eyes.
+
+“She never has been and never can be any more to me, Lola,” he said.
+
+At those words, designed to placate, the fire which smouldered in
+Lola’s breast burst into sudden flame. She leapt to her feet,
+confronting Sir Lucien.
+
+“I know! I know!” she cried harshly. “Do you think I am blind? If she
+had been like any of the others, do you suppose it would have mattered
+to _me?_ But you _respect_ her—you _respect_ her!”
+
+Eyes blazing and hands clenched, she stood before him, a woman mad with
+jealousy, not of a successful rival but of a respected one. She
+quivered with passion, and Pyne, perceiving his mistake too late, only
+preserved his wonted composure by dint of a great effort. He grasped
+Lola and drew her down on to the arm of the chair by sheer force, for
+she resisted savagely. His ready wit had been at work, and:
+
+“What a little spitfire you are,” he said, firmly grasping her arms,
+which felt rigid to the touch. “Surely you can understand? Rita amused
+me, at first. Then, when I found she was going to marry Monte Irvin I
+didn’t bother about her any more. In fact, because I like and admire
+Irvin, I tried to keep her away from the dope. We don’t want trouble
+with a man of that type, who has all sorts of influence. Besides, Monte
+Irvin is a good fellow.”
+
+Gradually, as he spoke, the rigid arms relaxed and the lithe body
+ceased to quiver. Finally, Lola sank back against his shoulder,
+sighing.
+
+“I don’t believe you,” she whispered. “You are telling me lies. But you
+have always told me lies; one more does not matter, I suppose. How
+strong you are. You have hurt my wrists. You will smoke with me now?”
+
+For a moment Pyne hesitated, then:
+
+“Very well,” he said. “Go and lie down. I will roast the _chandu_.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+THE DREAM OF SIN SIN WA
+
+
+For a habitual opium-smoker to abstain when the fumes of _chandu_
+actually reach his nostrils is a feat of will-power difficult
+adequately to appraise. An ordinary tobacco smoker cannot remain for
+long among those who are enjoying the fragrant weed without catching
+the infection and beginning to smoke also. Twice to redouble the lure
+of my lady Nicotine would be but loosely to estimate the seductiveness
+of the Spirit of the Poppy; yet Sir Lucien Pyne smoked one pipe with
+Mrs. Sin, and perceiving her to be already in a state of dreamy
+abstraction, loaded a second, but in his own case with a fragment of
+cigarette stump which smouldered in a tray upon the table. His was that
+rare type of character whose possessor remains master of his vices.
+
+Following the fourth pipe—Pyne, after the second, had ceased to trouble
+to repeat his feat of legerdemain, “The sleep” claimed Mrs. Sin. Her
+languorous eyes closed, and her face assumed that rapt expression of
+Buddha-like beatitude which Rita had observed at Kilfane’s flat.
+According to some scientific works on the subject, sleep is not
+invariably induced in the case of Europeans by the use of _chandu_.
+Loosely, this is true. But this type of European never becomes an
+habitué; the habitué always sleeps. That dream-world to which opium
+alone holds the key becomes the real world “for the delights of which
+the smoker gladly resigns all mundane interests.” The exiled Chinaman
+returns again to the sampan of his boyhood, floating joyously on the
+waters of some willow-lined canal; the Malay hears once more the mystic
+whispering in the mangrove swamps, or scents the fragrance of nutmeg
+and cinnamon in the far-off golden Chersonese. Mrs. Sin doubtless lived
+anew the triumphs of earlier days in Buenos Ayres, when she had been La
+Belle Lola, the greatly beloved, and before she had met and married Sin
+Sin Wa. _Chandu_ gives much, but claims all, and he who would open the
+poppy-gates must close the door of ambition and bid farewell to
+manhood.
+
+Sir Lucien stood looking at the woman, and although one pipe had
+affected him but slightly, his imagination momentarily ran riot and a
+pageant of his life swept before him, so that his jaw grew hard and
+grim and he clenched his hands convulsively. An unbroken stillness
+prevailed in the opium-house of Sin Sin Wa.
+
+Recovering from his fit of abstraction, Pyne, casting a final keen
+glance at the sleeper, walked out of the room. He looked along the
+carpeted corridor in the direction of the cubicles, paused, and then
+opened the heavy door masking the recess behind the cupboard. Next
+opening the false back of the cupboard, he passed through to the
+lumber-room beyond, and partly closed the second door.
+
+He descended the stair and went along the passage; but ere he reached
+the door of the room on the ground floor:
+
+“Hello! hello! Sin Sin! Sin Sin Wa!” croaked the raven. “Number one
+p’lice chop, lo!” The note of a police whistle followed, rendered with
+uncanny fidelity.
+
+Pyne entered the room. It presented the same aspect as when he had left
+it. The ship’s lantern stood upon the table, and Sin Sin Wa sat upon
+the tea-chest, the great black bird perched on his shoulder. The fire
+in the stove had burned lower, and its downcast glow revealed less
+mercilessly the dirty condition of the floor. Otherwise no one,
+nothing, seemed to have been disturbed. Pyne leaned against the
+doorpost, taking out and lighting a cigarette. The eye of Sin Sin Wa
+glanced sideways at him.
+
+“Well, Sin Sin,” said Sir Lucien, dropping a match and extinguishing it
+under his foot, “you see I am not smoking _chandu_ tonight.”
+
+“No smokee,” murmured the Chinaman. “Velly good stuff.”
+
+“Yes, the stuff is all right, Sin.”
+
+“Number one proper,” crooned Sin Sin Wa, and relapsed into smiling
+silence.
+
+“Number one p’lice,” croaked the raven sleepily. “Smartest—” He even
+attempted the castanets imitation, but was overcome by drowsiness.
+
+For a while Sir Lucien stood watching the singular pair and smiling in
+his ironical fashion. The motive which had prompted him to leave the
+neighboring house and to seek the companionship of Sin Sin Wa was so
+obscure and belonged so peculiarly to the superdelicacies of chivalry,
+that already he was laughing at himself. But, nevertheless, in this
+house and not in its secret annex of a Hundred Raptures he designed to
+spend the night. Presently:
+
+“Hon’lable p’lice patrol come ’long plenty soon,” murmured Sin Sin Wa.
+
+“Indeed?” said Sir Lucien, glancing at his wristwatch. “The door is
+open above.”
+
+Sin Sin Wa raised one yellow forefinger, without moving either hand
+from the knee upon which it rested, and shook it slightly to and fro.
+
+“Allee lightee,” he murmured. “No bhobbery. Allee peaceful fellers.”
+
+“Will they want to come in?”
+
+“Wantchee dlink,” replied Sin Sin Wa.
+
+“Oh, I see. If I go out into the passage it will be all right?”
+
+“Allee lightee.”
+
+Even as he softly crooned the words came a heavy squelch of rubbers
+upon the wet pavement outside, followed by a rapping on the door. Sin
+Sin Wa glanced aside at Sir Lucien, and the latter immediately
+withdrew, partly closing the door. The Chinaman shuffled across and
+admitted two constables. The raven, remaining perched upon his
+shoulder, shrieked, “Smartest leg in Buenos Ayres,” and, fully
+awakened, rattled invisible castanets.
+
+The police strode into the stuffy little room without ceremony, a pair
+of burly fellows, fresh-complexioned, and genial as men are wont to be
+who have reached a welcome resting-place on a damp and cheerless night.
+They stood by the stove, warming their hands; and one of them stooped,
+took up the little poker, and stirred the embers to a brighter glow.
+
+“Been havin’ a pipe, Sin?” he asked, winking at his companion. “I can
+smell something like opium!”
+
+“No smokee opium,” murmured Sin Sin Wa complacently. “Smokee Woodbine.”
+
+“Ho, ho!” laughed the other constable. “I _don’t_ think.”
+
+“You likee tly one piecee pipee one time?” inquired the Chinaman.
+“Gotchee fliend makee smokee.”
+
+The man who had poked the fire slapped his companion on the back.
+
+“Now’s your chance, Jim!” he cried. “You always said you’d like to have
+a cut at it.”
+
+“H’m!” muttered the other. “A ‘double’ o’ that fifteen over-proof
+Jamaica of yours, Sin, would hit me in a tender spot tonight.”
+
+“Lum?” murmured Sin Sin blandly. “No hate got.”
+
+He resumed his seat on the tea-chest, and the raven muttered sleepily,
+“Sin Sin—Sin.”
+
+“H’m!” repeated the constable.
+
+He raised the skirt of his heavy top-coat, and from his trouser-pocket
+drew out a leather purse. The eye of Sin Sin Wa remained fixed upon a
+distant corner of the room. From the purse the constable took a
+shilling, ringing it loudly upon the table.
+
+“Double rum, miss, please!” he said, facetiously. “There’s no treason
+allowed nowadays, so my pal’s—”
+
+“I stood _yours_ last night Jim, anyway!” cried the other, grinning.
+“Go on, stump up!”
+
+Jim rang a second shilling on the table.
+
+“_Two_ double rums!” he called.
+
+Sin Sin Wa reached a long arm into the little cupboard beside him and
+withdrew a bottle and a glass. Leaning forward he placed bottle and
+glass on the table, and adroitly swept the coins into his yellow palm.
+
+“Number one p’lice chop,” croaked the raven.
+
+“You’re right, old bird!” said Jim, pouring out a stiff peg of the
+spirit and disposing of it at a draught. “We should freeze to death on
+this blasted riverside beat if it wasn’t for Sin Sin.”
+
+He measured out a second portion for his companion, and the latter
+drank the raw spirit off as though it had been ale, replaced the glass
+on the table, and having adjusted his belt and lantern in that
+characteristic way which belongs exclusively to members of the
+Metropolitan Police Force, turned and departed.
+
+“Good night, Sin,” he said, opening the door.
+
+“So-long,” murmured the Chinaman.
+
+“Good night, old bird,” cried Jim, following his colleague.
+
+“So-long.”
+
+The door closed, and Sin Sin Wa, shuffling across, rebolted it. As Sir
+Lucien came out from his hiding-place Sin Sin Wa returned to his seat
+on the tea-chest, first putting the glass, unwashed, and the rum bottle
+back in the cupboard.
+
+To the ordinary observer the Chinaman presents an inscrutable mystery.
+His seemingly unemotional character and his racial inability to express
+his thoughts intelligibly in any European tongue stamp him as a
+creature apart, and one whom many are prone erroneously to classify
+very low in the human scale and not far above the ape. Sir Lucien
+usually spoke to Sin Sin Wa in English, and the other replied in that
+weird jargon known as “pidgin.” But the silly Sin Wa who murmured
+gibberish and the Sin Sin Wa who could converse upon many and curious
+subjects in his own language were two different beings—as Sir Lucien
+was aware. Now, as the one-eyed Chinaman resumed his seat and the
+one-eyed raven sank into slumber, Pyne suddenly spoke in Chinese, a
+tongue which he understood as it is understood by few Englishmen; that
+strange, sibilant speech which is alien from all Western conceptions of
+oral intercourse as the Chinese institutions and ideals are alien from
+those of the rest of the civilized world.
+
+“So you make a profit on your rum, Sin Sin Wa,” he said ironically, “at
+the same time that you keep in the good graces of the police?”
+
+Sin Sin Wa’s expression underwent a subtle change at the sound of his
+native language. He moved his hands and became slightly animated.
+
+“A great people of the West, most honorable sir,” he replied in the
+pure mandarin dialect, “claim credit for having said that ‘business is
+business.’ Yet he who thus expressed himself was a Chinaman.”
+
+“You surprise me.”
+
+“The wise man must often find occasion for surprise most honorable
+sir.”
+
+Sir Lucien lighted a cigarette.
+
+“I sometimes wonder, Sin Sin Wa,” he said slowly, “what your aim in
+life can be. Your father was neither a ship’s carpenter nor a
+shopkeeper. This I know. Your age I do not know and cannot guess, but
+you are no longer young. You covet wealth. For what purpose, Sin Sin
+Wa?”
+
+Standing behind the Chinaman, Sir Lucien’s dark face, since he made no
+effort to hide his feelings, revealed the fact that he attached to this
+seemingly abstract discussion a greater importance than his tone of
+voice might have led one to suppose. Sin Sin Wa remained silent for
+some time, then:
+
+“Most honorable sir,” he replied, “when I have smoked the opium, before
+my eyes—for in dreams I have two—a certain picture arises. It is that
+of a farm in the province of Ho-Nan. Beyond the farm stretch
+paddy-fields as far as one can see. Men and women and boys and girls
+move about the farm, happy in their labors, and far, far away dwell the
+mountain gods, who send the great Yellow River sweeping down through
+the valleys where the poppy is in bloom. It is to possess that farm,
+most honorable sir, and those paddy-fields that I covet wealth.”
+
+“And in spite of the opium which you consume, you have never lost sight
+of this ideal?”
+
+“Never.”
+
+“But—your wife?”
+
+Sin Sin Wa performed a curious shrugging movement, peculiarly racial.
+
+“A man may not always have the same wife,” he replied cryptically. “The
+honorable wife who now attends to my requirements, laboring unselfishly
+in my miserable house and scorning the love of other men as she has
+always done—and as an honorable and upright woman is expected to do—may
+one day be gathered to her ancestors. A man never knows. Or she may
+leave me. I am not a good husband. It may be that some little maiden of
+Ho-Nan, mild-eyed like the musk-deer and modest and tender, will
+consent to minister to my old age. Who knows?”
+
+Sir Lucien blew a thick cloud of tobacco smoke into the room, and:
+
+“She will never love you, Sin Sin Wa,” he said, almost sadly. “She will
+come to your house only to cheat you.”
+
+Sin Sin Wa repeated the eloquent shrug.
+
+“We have a saying in Ho-Nan, most honorable sir,” he answered, “and it
+is this: ‘He who has tasted the poppy-cup has nothing to ask of love.’
+She will cook for me, this little one, and stroke my brow when I am
+weary, and light my pipe. My eye will rest upon her with pleasure. It
+is all I ask.”
+
+There came a soft rapping on the outer door—three raps, a pause, and
+then two raps. The raven opened his beady eye.
+
+“Sin Sin Wa,” he croaked, “number one p’lice chop, lo!”
+
+Sin Sin Wa glanced aside at Sir Lucien.
+
+“The traffic. A consignment of opium,” he said. “Sam Tûk calls.”
+
+Sir Lucien consulted his watch, and:
+
+“I should like to go with you, Sin Sin Wa,” he said. “Would it be safe
+to leave the house—with the upper door unlocked?”
+
+Sin Sin Wa glanced at him again.
+
+“All are sleeping, most honorable sir?”
+
+“All.”
+
+“I will lock the room above and the outer door. It is safe.”
+
+He raised a yellow hand, and the raven stepped sedately from his
+shoulder on to his wrist.
+
+“Come, Tling-a-Ling,” crooned Sin Sin Wa, “you go to bed, my little
+black friend, and one day you, too, shall see the paddy-fields of
+Ho-Nan.”
+
+Opening the useful cupboard, he stooped, and in hopped the raven. Sin
+Sin Wa closed the cupboard, and stepped out into the passage.
+
+“I will bring you a coat and a cap and scarf,” he said. “Your
+magnificent apparel would be out of place among the low pigs who wait
+in my other disgusting cellar to rob me. Forgive my improper absence
+for one moment, most honorable sir.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+THE TRAFFIC
+
+
+Sir Lucien came out into the alley wearing a greasy cloth cap pulled
+down over his eyes and an old overall, the collar turned up about a red
+woollen muffler which enveloped the lower part of his face. The odor of
+the outfit was disgusting, but this man’s double life had brought him
+so frequently in contact with all forms of uncleanness, including that
+of the Far East, compared with which the dirt of the West is hygienic,
+that he suffered it without complaint.
+
+A Chinese “boy” of indeterminable age, wearing a slop-shop suit and a
+cap, was waiting outside the door, and when Sin Sin Wa appeared,
+carefully locking up, he muttered something rapidly in his own sibilant
+language.
+
+Sin Sin Wa made no reply. To his indoor attire he had added a
+pea-jacket and a bowler hat; and the oddly assorted trio set off
+westward, following the bank of the Thames in the direction of
+Limehouse Basin. The narrow, ill-lighted streets were quite deserted,
+but from the river and the riverside arose that ceaseless jangle of
+industry which belongs to the great port of London. On the Surrey shore
+whistles shrieked, and endless moving chains sent up their monstrous
+clangor into the night. Human voices sometimes rose above the din of
+machinery.
+
+In silence the three pursued their way, crossing inlets and circling
+around basins dimly divined, turning to the right into a lane flanked
+by high, eyeless walls, and again to the left, finally to emerge nearly
+opposite a dilapidated gateway giving access to a small wharf, on the
+rickety gates bills were posted announcing, “This Wharf to Let.” The
+annexed building appeared to be a mere shell. To the right again they
+turned, and once more to the left, halting before a two-story brick
+house which had apparently been converted into a barber’s shop. In one
+of the grimy windows were some loose packets of cigarettes, a
+soapmaker’s advertisement, and a card:
+
+SAM TÛK
+BARBER
+
+
+Opening the door with a key which he carried, the boy admitted Sir
+Lucien and Sin Sin Wa to the dimly-lighted interior of a room the
+pretensions of which to be regarded as a shaving saloon were supported
+by the presence of two chairs, a filthy towel, and a broken mug. Sin
+Sin Wa shuffled across to another door, and, followed by Sir Lucien,
+descended a stone stair to a little cellar apparently intended for
+storing coal. A tin lamp stood upon the bottom step.
+
+Removing the lamp from the step, Sin Sin Wa set it on the cellar floor,
+which was black with coal dust, then closed and bolted the door. A heap
+of nondescript litter lay piled in a corner of the cellar. This Sin Sin
+Wa disturbed sufficiently to reveal a movable slab in the roughly paved
+floor. It was so ingeniously concealed by coal dust that one who had
+sought it unaided must have experienced great difficulty in detecting
+it. Furthermore, it could only be raised in the following manner:
+
+A piece of strong iron wire, which lay among the other litter, was
+inserted in a narrow slot, apparently a crack in the stone. About an
+inch of the end of the wire being bent outward to form a right angle,
+when the seemingly useless piece of scrap-iron had been thrust through
+the slab and turned, it formed a handle by means of which the trap
+could be raised.
+
+Again Sin Sin Wa took up the lamp, placing it at the brink of the
+opening revealed. A pair of wooden steps rested below, and Sir Lucien,
+who evidently was no stranger to the establishment, descended
+awkwardly, since there was barely room for a big man to pass. He found
+himself in the mouth of a low passage, unpaved and shored up with rough
+timbers in the manner of a mine-working. Sin Sin Wa followed with the
+lamp, drawing the slab down into its place behind him.
+
+Stooping forward and bending his knees, Sir Lucien made his way along
+the passage, the Chinaman following. It was of considerable length, and
+terminated before a strong door bearing a massive lock. Sin Sin Wa
+reached over the stooping figure of Sir Lucien and unfastened the lock.
+The two emerged in a kind of dug-out. Part of it had evidently been in
+existence before the ingenious Sin Sin Wa had exercised his skill upon
+it, and was of solid brickwork and stone-paved; palpably a storage
+vault. But it had been altered to suit the Chinaman’s purpose, and one
+end—that in which the passage came out—was timbered. It contained a
+long counter and many shelves; also a large oil-stove and a number of
+pots, pans, and queer-looking jars. On the counter stood a ship’s
+lantern. The shelves were laden with packages and bottles. Behind the
+counter sat a venerable and perfectly bald Chinaman. The only trace of
+hair upon his countenance grew on the shrunken upper lip—mere wisps of
+white down. His skin was shrivelled like that of a preserved fig, and
+he wore big horn-rimmed spectacles. He never once exhibited the
+slightest evidence of life, and his head and face, and the horn-rimmed
+spectacles, might quite easily have passed for those of an unwrapped
+mummy. This was Sam Tûk.
+
+Bending over a box upon which rested a canvas-bound package was a burly
+seaman engaged in unknotting the twine with which the canvas was kept
+in place. As Sin Sin Wa and Sir Lucien came in he looked up, revealing
+a red-bearded, ugly face, very puffy under the eyes.
+
+“Wotcher, Sin Sin!” he said gruffly. “Who’s your long pal?”
+
+“Friend,” murmured Sin Sin Wa complacently. “You gotchee _pukka_ stuff
+thisee time, George?”
+
+“I allus brings the _pukka_ stuff!” roared the seaman, ceasing to
+fumble with the knots and glaring at Sin Sin Wa. “Wotcher mean—_pukka_
+stuff?”
+
+“Gotchee no use for bran,” murmured Sin Sin Wa. “Gotchee no use for
+tin-tack. Gotchee no use for glue.”
+
+“Bran!” roared the man, his glance and pose very menacing. “Tin-tacks
+and glue! Who the flamin’ ’ell ever tried to sell _you_ glue?”
+
+“Me only wantchee lemindee you,” said Sin Sin Wa. “No pidgin.”
+
+“George” glared for a moment, breathing heavily; then he stooped and
+resumed his task, Sin Sin Wa and Sir Lucien watching him in silence. A
+sound of lapping water was faintly audible.
+
+Opening the canvas wrappings, the man began to take out and place upon
+the counter a number of reddish balls of “leaf” opium, varying in
+weight from about eight ounces to a pound or more.
+
+“H’m!” murmured Sin Sin Wa. “Smyrna stuff.”
+
+From a pocket of his pea-jacket he drew a long bodkin, and taking up
+one of the largest balls he thrust the bodkin in and then withdrew it,
+the steel stained a coffee color. Sin Sin Wa smelled and tasted the
+substance adhering to the bodkin, weighed the ball reflectively in his
+yellow palm, and then set it aside. He took up a second, whereupon:
+
+“’Alf a mo’, guvnor!” cried the seaman furiously. “D’you think I’m
+going to wait ’ere while you prods about in all the blasted lot? It’s
+damn near high tide—I shan’t get out. ’Alf time! Savvy? Shove it on the
+scales!”
+
+Sin Sin Wa shook his head.
+
+“Too muchee slick. Too muchee bhobbery,” he murmured. “Sin Sin Wa
+gotchee sabby what him catchee buy or no pidgin.”
+
+“What’s the game?” inquired George menacingly. “Don’t you know a cake
+o’ Smyrna when you smells it?”
+
+“No sabby lead chop till ploddem withee dipper,” explained the
+Chinaman, imperturbably.
+
+“Lead!” shouted the man. “There ain’t no bloody lead in ’em!”
+
+“H’m,” murmured Sin Sin Wa smilingly. “So fashion, eh? All velly
+proper.”
+
+He calmly inserted the bodkin in the second cake; seemed to meet with
+some obstruction, and laid the ball down upon the counter. From beneath
+his jacket he took out a clasp-knife attached to a steel chain.
+Undeterred by a savage roar from the purveyor, he cut the sticky mass
+in half, and digging his long nails into one of the halves, brought out
+two lead shots. He directed a glance of his beady eye upon the man.
+
+“Bloody liar,” he murmured sweetly. “Lobber.”
+
+“Who’s a robber?” shouted George, his face flushing darkly, and
+apparently not resenting the earlier innuendo; “Who’s a robber?”
+
+“One sarcee Smyrna feller packee stuff so fashion,” murmured Sin Sin
+Wa. “Thief-feller lobbee poor sailorman.”
+
+George jerked his peaked cap from his head, revealing a tangle of
+unkempt red hair. He scratched his skull with savage vigor.
+
+“Blimey!” he said pathetically. “’Ere’s a go! I been done brown,
+guv’nor.”
+
+“Lough luck,” murmured Sin Sin Wa, and resumed his examination of the
+cakes of opium.
+
+The man watched him now in silence, only broken by exclamations of
+“Blimey” and “Flaming hell” when more shot was discovered. The tests
+concluded:
+
+“Gotchee some more?” asked Sin Sin Wa.
+
+From the canvas wrapping George took out and tossed on the counter a
+square packet wrapped in grease-paper.
+
+“H’m,” murmured Sin Sin Wa, “Patna. Where you catchee?”
+
+“Off of a lascar,” growled the man.
+
+The cake of Indian opium was submitted to the same careful scrutiny as
+that which the balls of Turkish had already undergone, but the Patna
+opium proved to be unadulterated. Reaching over the counter Sin Sin Wa
+produced a pair of scales, and, watched keenly by George, weighed the
+leaf and then the cake.
+
+“Ten-six Smyrna; one ’leben Patna,” muttered Sin Sin Wa. “You catchee
+eighty jimmies.”
+
+“Eh?” roared George. “Eighty quid! Eighty quid! Flamin’ blind o’ Riley!
+D’you think I’m up the pole? Eighty quid? You’re barmy!”
+
+“Eighty-ten,” murmured Sin Sin Wa. “Eighty jimmies opium; ten bob
+lead.”
+
+“I give more’n that for it!” cried the seaman. “An’ I damn near hit a
+police boat comin’ in, too!”
+
+Sir Lucien spoke a few words rapidly in Chinese. Sin Sin Wa performed
+his curious oriental shrug, and taking a fat leather wallet from his
+hip-pocket, counted out the sum of eighty-five pounds upon the counter.
+
+“You catchee eighty-five,” he murmured. “Too muchee price.”
+
+The man grabbed the money and pocketed it without a word of
+acknowledgment. He turned and strode along the room, his heavy,
+iron-clamped boots ringing on the paved floor.
+
+“Fetch a grim, Sin Sin,” he cried. “I’ll never get out if I don’t jump
+to it.”
+
+Sin Sin Wa took the lantern from the counter and followed. Opening a
+door at the further end of the place, he set the lantern at the head of
+three descending wooden steps discovered. With the opening of the door
+the sound of lapping water had grown perceptibly louder. George
+clattered down the steps, which led to a second but much stouter door.
+Sin Sin Wa followed, nearly closing the first door, so that only a
+faint streak of light crept down to them.
+
+The second door was opened, and the clangor of the Surrey shore
+suddenly proclaimed itself. Cold, damp air touched them, and the faint
+light of the lantern above cast their shadows over unctuous gliding
+water, which lapped the step upon which they stood. Slimy shapes uprose
+dim and ghostly from its darkly moving surface.
+
+A boat was swinging from a ring beside the door, and into it George
+tumbled. He unhitched the lashings, and strongly thrust the boat out
+upon the water. Coming to the first of the dim shapes, he grasped it
+and thereby propelled the skiff to another beyond. These indistinct
+shapes were the piles supporting the structure of a wharf.
+
+“Good night, guv’nor!” he cried hoarsely
+
+“So-long,” muttered Sin Sin Wa.
+
+He waited until the boat was swallowed in the deeper shadows, then
+reclosed the water-gate and ascended to the room where Sir Lucien
+awaited. Such was the receiving office of Sin Sin Wa. While the wharf
+remained untenanted it was not likely to be discovered by the
+authorities, for even at low tide the river-door was invisible from
+passing craft. Prospective lessees who had taken the trouble to inquire
+about the rental had learned that it was so high as to be prohibitive.
+
+Sin Sin Wa paid fair prices and paid cash. This was no more than a
+commercial necessity. For those who have opium, cocaine, veronal, or
+heroin to sell can always find a ready market in London and elsewhere.
+But one sufficiently curious and clever enough to have solved the
+riddle of the vacant wharf would have discovered that the mysterious
+owner who showed himself so loath to accept reasonable offers for the
+property could well afford to be thus independent. Those who control
+“the traffic” control El Dorado—a city of gold which, unlike the fabled
+Manoa, actually exists and yields its riches to the unscrupulous
+adventurer.
+
+Smiling his mirthless, eternal smile, Sin Sin Wa placed the newly
+purchased stock upon a shelf immediately behind Sam Tûk; and Sam Tûk
+exhibited the first evidence of animation which had escaped him
+throughout the progress of the “deal.” He slowly nodded his hairless
+head.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+KAZMAH’S METHODS
+
+
+Rita Dresden married Monte Irvin in the spring and bade farewell to the
+stage. The goal long held in view was attained at last. But another
+farewell which at one time she had contemplated eagerly no longer
+appeared desirable or even possible. To cocamania had been added a
+tolerance for opium, and at the last _chandu_ party given by Cyrus
+Kilfane she had learned that she could smoke nearly as much opium as
+the American habitué.
+
+The altered attitude of Sir Lucien surprised and annoyed her. He, who
+had first introduced her to the spirit of the coca leaf and to the
+goddess of the poppy, seemed suddenly to have determined to convince
+her of the folly of these communions. He only succeeded in losing her
+confidence. She twice visited the “House of a Hundred Raptures” with
+Mollie Gretna, and once with Mollie and Kilfane, unknown to Sir Lucien.
+
+Urgent affairs of some kind necessitated his leaving England a few
+weeks before the date fixed for Rita’s wedding, and as Kilfane had
+already returned to America, Rita recognized with a certain dismay that
+she would be left to her own resources—handicapped by the presence of a
+watchful husband. This subtle change in her view of Monte Irvin she was
+incapable of appreciating, for Rita was no psychologist. But the effect
+of the drug habit was pointedly illustrated by the fact that in a
+period of little more than six months, from regarding Monte Irvin as a
+rock of refuge—a chance of salvation—she had come to regard him in the
+light of an obstacle to her indulgence. Not that her respect had
+diminished. She really loved at last, and so well that the idea of
+discovery by this man whose wholesomeness was the trait of character
+which most potently attracted her, was too appalling to be
+contemplated. The chance of discovery would be enhanced, she
+recognized, by the absence of her friends and accomplices.
+
+Of course she was acquainted with many other devotees. In fact, she met
+so many of them that she had grown reconciled to her habits, believing
+them to be common to all “smart” people—a part of the Bohemian life.
+The truth of the matter was that she had become a prominent member of a
+coterie closely knit and associated by a bond of mutual vice—a kind of
+masonry whereof Kazmah of Bond Street was Grand Master and Mrs. Sin
+Grand Mistress.
+
+The relations existing between Kazmah and his clients were of a most
+peculiar nature, too, and must have piqued the curiosity of anyone but
+a drug-slave. Having seen him once, in his oracular cave, Rita had been
+accepted as one of the initiated. Thereafter she had had no occasion to
+interview the strange, immobile Egyptian, nor had she experienced any
+desire to do so. The method of obtaining drugs was a simple one. She
+had merely to present herself at the establishment in Bond Street and
+to purchase either a flask of perfume or a box of sweetmeats. There
+were several varieties of perfume, and each corresponded to a
+particular drug. The sweetmeats corresponded to morphine. Rashîd, the
+attendant, knew all Kazmah’s clients, and with the box or flask he gave
+them a quantity of the required drug. This scheme was precautionary.
+For if a visitor should chance to be challenged on leaving the place,
+there was the legitimate purchase to show in evidence of the purpose of
+the visit.
+
+No conversation was necessary, merely the selection of a scent and the
+exchange of a sum of money. Rashîd retired to wrap up the purchase, and
+with it a second and smaller package was slipped into the customer’s
+hand. That the prices charged were excessive—nay, ridiculous—did not
+concern Rita, for, in common with the rest of her kind, she was
+careless of expenditure.
+
+_Chandu_, alone, Kazmah did not sell. He sold morphine, tincture of
+opium, and other preparations; but those who sought the solace of the
+pipe were compelled to deal with Mrs. Sin. She would arrange _chandu_
+parties, or would prepare the “Hundred Raptures” in Limehouse for
+visitors; but, except in the form of opiated cigarettes, she could
+rarely be induced to part with any of the precious gum. Thus she
+cleverly kept a firm hold upon the devotees of the poppy.
+
+Drug-takers form a kind of brotherhood, and outside the charmed circle
+they are secretive as members of the Mafia, the Camorra, or the
+Catouse-Menegant.
+
+In this secrecy, which, indeed, is a recognized symptom of drug mania,
+lay Kazmah’s security. Rita experienced no desire to peer behind the
+veil which, literally and metaphorically, he had placed between himself
+and the world. At first she had been vaguely curious, and had
+questioned Sir Lucien and others, but nobody seemed to know the real
+identity of Kazmah, and nobody seemed to care provided that he
+continued to supply drugs. They all led secret, veiled lives, these
+slaves of the laboratory, and that Kazmah should do likewise did not
+surprise them. He had excellent reasons.
+
+During this early stage of faint curiosity she had suggested to Sir
+Lucien that for Kazmah to conduct a dream-reading business seemed to be
+to add to the likelihood of police interference.
+
+The baronet had smiled sardonically.
+
+“It is an additional safeguard,” he had assured her. “It corresponds to
+the method of a notorious Paris assassin who was very generally
+regarded by the police as a cunning pickpocket. Kazmah’s business of
+‘dreamreading’ does not actually come within the Act. He is clever
+enough for that. Remember, he does not profess to tell fortunes. It
+also enables him to balk idle curiosity.”
+
+At the time of her marriage Rita was hopelessly in the toils, and had
+been really panic-stricken at the prospect—once so golden—of a
+protracted sojourn abroad. The war, which rendered travel impossible,
+she regarded rather in the light of a heaven-sent boon. Irvin, though
+personally favoring a quiet ceremony, recognized that Rita cherished a
+desire to quit theatreland in a chariot of fire, and accordingly the
+wedding was on a scale of magnificence which outshone that of any other
+celebrated during the season. Even the lugubrious Mr. Esden, who gave
+his daughter away, was seen to smile twice. Mrs. Esden moved in a
+rarified atmosphere of gratified ambition and parental pride, which no
+doubt closely resembled that which the angels breathe.
+
+It was during the early days of her married life, and while Sir Lucien
+was still abroad, that Rita began to experience difficulty in obtaining
+the drugs which she required. She had lost touch to a certain extent
+with her former associates; but she had retained her maid, Nina, and
+the girl regularly went to Kazmah’s and returned with the little flasks
+of perfume. When an accredited representative was sent upon such a
+mission, Kazmah dispatched the drugs disguised in a scent flask; but on
+each successive occasion that Nina went to him the prices increased,
+and finally became so exorbitant that even Rita grew astonished and
+dismayed.
+
+She mentioned the matter to another habitué, a lady of title addicted
+to the use of the hypodermic syringe, and learned that she (Rita) was
+being charged nearly twice as much as her friend.
+
+“I should bring the man to his senses, dear,” said her ladyship. “I
+know a doctor who will be only too glad to supply you. When I say a
+doctor, he is no longer recognized by the B.M.A., but he’s none the
+less clever and kind for all that.”
+
+To the clever and kind medical man Rita repaired on the following day,
+bearing a written introduction from her friend. The discredited
+physician supplied her for a short time, charging only moderate fees.
+Then, suddenly, this second source of supply was closed. The man
+declared that he was being watched by the police, and that he dared not
+continue to supply her with cocaine and veronal. His shifty eyes gave
+the lie to his words, but he was firm in his resolution, whatever may
+have led him to it, and Rita was driven back to Kazmah. His charges had
+become more exorbitant than ever, but her need was imperative.
+Nevertheless, she endeavored to find another drug dealer, and after a
+time was again successful.
+
+At a certain supper club she was introduced to a suave little man,
+quite palpably an uninterned alien, who smilingly offered to provide
+her with any drug to be found in the British Pharmacopeia, at most
+moderate charges. With this little German-Jew villain she made a pact,
+reflecting that, provided that his wares were of good quality, she had
+triumphed over Kazmah.
+
+The craving for _chandu_ seized her sometimes and refused to be
+exorcised by morphia, laudanum, or any other form of opium; but she had
+not dared to spend a night at the “House of a Hundred Raptures” since
+her marriage. Her new German friend volunteered to supply the necessary
+gum, outfit, and to provide an apartment where she might safely indulge
+in smoking. She declined—at first. But finally, on Mollie Gretna’s
+return from France, where she had been acting as a nurse, Rita and
+Mollie accepted the suave alien’s invitation to spend an evening in his
+private opium divan.
+
+Many thousands of careers were wrecked by the war, and to the war and
+the consequent absence of her husband Rita undoubtedly owed her relapse
+into opium-smoking. That she would have continued secretly to employ
+cocaine, veronal, and possibly morphine was probable enough; but the
+constant society of Monte Irvin must have made it extremely difficult
+for her to indulge the craving for _chandu_. She began to regret the
+gaiety of her old life. Loneliness and monotony plunged her into a
+state of suicidal depression, and she grasped eagerly at every promise
+of excitement.
+
+It was at about this time that she met Margaret Halley, and between the
+two, so contrary in disposition, a close friendship arose. The girl
+doctor ere long discovered Rita’s secret, of course, and the discovery
+was hastened by an event which occurred shortly after they had become
+acquainted.
+
+The suave alien gentleman disappeared.
+
+That was the entire story in five words—or all of the story that Rita
+ever learned. His apartments were labelled “To Let,” and the night
+clubs knew him no more. Rita for a time was deprived of drugs, and the
+nervous collapse which resulted revealed to Margaret Halley’s trained
+perceptions the truth respecting her friend.
+
+Kazmah’s terms proved to be more outrageous than ever, but Rita found
+herself again compelled to resort to the Egyptian. She went personally
+to the rooms in old Bond Street and arranged with Rashîd to see Kazmah
+on the following day, Friday, for Kazmah only received visitors by
+appointment. As it chanced, Sir Lucien Pyne returned to England on
+Thursday night and called upon Rita at Prince’s Gate. She welcomed him
+as a friend in need, unfolding the pitiful story, to the truth of which
+her nervous condition bore eloquent testimony.
+
+Sir Lucien began to pace up and down the charming little room in which
+Rita had received him. She watched him, haggard-eyed. Presently:
+
+“Leave Kazmah to me,” he said. “If you visit him he will merely shield
+himself behind the mystical business, or assure you that he is making
+no profit on his sales. Kilfane had similar trouble with him.”
+
+“Then _you_ will see him?” asked Rita.
+
+“I will make a point of interviewing him in the morning. Meanwhile, if
+you will send Nina around to Albemarle Street in about an hour I will
+see what can be done.”
+
+“Oh, Lucy,” whispered Rita, “what a pal you are.”
+
+Sir Lucien smiled in his cold fashion.
+
+“I try to be,” he said enigmatically; “but I don’t always succeed.” He
+turned to her. “Have you ever thought of giving up this doping?” he
+asked. “Have you ever realized that with increasing tolerance the
+quantities must increase as well, and that a day is sure to come when—”
+
+Rita repressed a nervous shudder.
+
+“You are trying to frighten me,” she replied. “You have tried before; I
+don’t know why. But it’s no good, Lucy. You know I cannot give it up.”
+
+“You can try.”
+
+“I don’t want to try!” she cried irritably. “It will be time enough
+when Monte is back again, and we can really ‘live.’ This wretched
+existence, with everything restricted and rationed, and all one’s
+friends in Flanders or Mesopotamia or somewhere, drives me mad! I tell
+you I should die, Lucy, if I tried to do without it now.”
+
+The hollow presence of reform contemplated in a hazy future did not
+deceive Sir Lucien. He suppressed a sigh, and changed the topic of
+conversation.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+THE CIGARETTES FROM BUENOS AYRES
+
+
+Sir Lucien’s intervention proved successful. Kazmah’s charges became
+more modest, and Rita no longer found it necessary to deprive herself
+of hats and dresses in order to obtain drugs. But, nevertheless, these
+were not the halcyon days of old. She was now surrounded by spies. It
+was necessary to resort to all kinds of subterfuge in order to cover
+her expenditures at the establishment in old Bond Street. Her husband
+never questioned her outlay, but on the other hand it was expedient to
+be armed against the possibility of his doing so, and Rita’s debts were
+accumulating formidably.
+
+Then there was Margaret Halley to consider. Rita had never hitherto
+given her confidence to anyone who was not addicted to the same
+practices as herself, and she frequently experienced embarrassment
+beneath the grave scrutiny of Margaret’s watchful eyes. In another this
+attitude of gentle disapproval would have been irritating, but Rita
+loved and admired Margaret, and suffered accordingly.
+
+As for Sir Lucien, she had ceased to understand him. An impalpable
+barrier seemed to have arisen between them. The inner man had became
+inaccessible. Her mind was not subtle enough to grasp the real
+explanation of this change in her old lover. Being based upon wrong
+premises, her inferences were necessarily wide of the truth, and she
+believed that Sir Lucien was jealous of Margaret’s cousin, Quentin
+Gray.
+
+Gray met Rita at Margaret Halley’s flat shortly after he had returned
+home from service in the East, and he immediately conceived a violent
+infatuation for this pretty friend of his cousin’s. In this respect his
+conduct was in no way peculiar. Few men were proof against the
+seductive Mrs. Monte Irvin, not because she designedly encouraged
+admiration, but because she was one of those fortunately rare
+characters who inspire it without conscious effort. Her appeal to men
+was sweetly feminine and quite lacking in that self-assertive and
+masculine “take me or leave me” attitude which characterizes some of
+the beauties of today. There was nothing abstract about her delicate
+loveliness, yet her charm was not wholly physical. Many women disliked
+her.
+
+At dance, theatre, and concert Quentin Gray played the doting cavalier;
+and Rita, who was used to at least one such adoring attendant, accepted
+his homage without demur. Monte Irvin returned to civil life, but Rita
+showed no disposition to dispense with her new admirer. Both Gray and
+Sir Lucien had become frequent visitors at Prince’s Gate, and Irvin,
+who understood his wife’s character up to a point, made them his
+friends.
+
+Shortly after Monte Irvin’s return Sir Lucien taxed Rita again with her
+increasing subjection to drugs. She was in a particularly gay humor, as
+the supplies from Kazmah had been regular, and she laughingly fenced
+with him when he reminded her of her declared intention to reform when
+her husband should return.
+
+“You are really as bad as Margaret,” she declared. “There is nothing
+the matter with me. You talk of ‘curing’ me as though I were ill.
+Physician, heal thyself.”
+
+The sardonic smile momentarily showed upon Pyne’s face, and:
+
+“I know when and where to pull up, Rita,” he said. “A woman never knows
+this. If I were deprived of opium tomorrow I could get along without
+it.”
+
+“I have given up opium,” replied Rita. “It’s too much trouble, and the
+last time Mollie and I went—”
+
+She paused, glancing quickly at Sir Lucien.
+
+“Go on,” he said grimly. “I know you have been to Sin Sin Wa’s. What
+happened the last time?”
+
+“Well,” continued Rita hurriedly, “Monte seemed to be vaguely
+suspicious. Besides, Mrs. Sin charged me most preposterously. I really
+cannot afford it, Lucy.”
+
+“I am glad you cannot. But what I was about to say was this: suppose
+_you_ were to be deprived, not of _chandu_, but of cocaine and veronal,
+do you know what would happen to you?”
+
+“Oh!” whispered Rita, “why _will_ you persist in trying to frighten me!
+I am not going to be deprived of them.”
+
+“I persist, dear, because I want you to try, gradually, to depend less
+upon drugs, so that if the worst should happen you would have a
+chance.”
+
+Rita stood up and faced him, biting her lip.
+
+“Lucy,” she said, “do you mean that Kazmah—”
+
+“I mean that anything might happen, Rita. After all, we do possess a
+police service in London, and one day there might be an accident.
+Kazmah has certain influence, but it may be withdrawn. Rita, won’t you
+try?”
+
+She was watching him closely, and now the pupils of her beautiful eyes
+became dilated.
+
+“You know something,” she said slowly, “which you are keeping from me.”
+
+He laughed and turned aside.
+
+“I know that I am compelled to leave England again, Rita, for a time;
+and I should be a happier man if I knew that you were not so utterly
+dependent upon Kazmah.”
+
+“Oh, Lucy, are you going away again?”
+
+“I must. But I shall not be absent long, I hope.”
+
+Rita sank down upon the settee from which she had risen, and was silent
+for some time; then:
+
+“I _will_ try, Lucy,” she promised. “I will go to Margaret Halley, as
+she is always asking me to do.”
+
+“Good girl,” said Pyne quietly. “It is just a question of making the
+effort, Rita. You will succeed, with Margaret’s help.”
+
+A short time later Sir Lucien left England, but throughout the last
+week that he remained in London Rita spent a great part of every day in
+his company. She had latterly begun to experience an odd kind of
+remorse for her treatment of the inscrutably reserved baronet. His
+earlier intentions she had not forgotten, but she had long ago forgiven
+them, and now she often felt sorry for this man whom she had
+deliberately used as a stepping-stone to fortune.
+
+Gray was quite unable to conceal his jealousy. He seemed to think that
+he had a proprietary right to Mrs. Monte Irvin’s society, and during
+the week preceding Sir Lucien’s departure Gray came perilously near to
+making himself ridiculous on more than one occasion.
+
+One night, on leaving a theatre, Rita suggested to Pyne that they
+should proceed to a supper club for an hour. “It will be like old
+times,” she said.
+
+“But your husband is expecting you,” protested Sir Lucien.
+
+“Let’s ring him up and ask him to join us. He won’t, but he cannot very
+well object then.”
+
+As a result they presently found themselves descending a broad carpeted
+stairway. From the rooms below arose the strains of an American melody.
+Dancing was in progress, or, rather, one of those orgiastic ceremonies
+which passed for dancing during this pagan period. Just by the foot of
+the stairs they paused and surveyed the scene.
+
+“Why,” said Rita, “there is Quentin—glaring insanely, silly boy.”
+
+“Do you see whom he is with?” asked Sir Lucien.
+
+“Mollie Gretna.”
+
+“But I mean the woman sitting down.”
+
+Rita stood on tiptoe, trying to obtain a view, and suddenly:
+
+“Oh!” she exclaimed, “Mrs. Sin!”
+
+The dance at that moment concluding, they crossed the floor and joined
+the party. Mrs. Sin greeted them with one of her rapid, mirthless
+smiles. She was wearing a gown noticeable, but not for quantity, even
+in that semi-draped assembly. Mollie Gretna giggled rapturously. But
+Gray’s swiftly changing color betrayed a mood which he tried in vain to
+conceal by his manner. Having exchanged a few words with the new
+arrivals, he evidently realized that he could not trust himself to
+remain longer, and:
+
+“Now I must be off,” he said awkwardly. “I have an
+appointment—important business. Good night, everybody.”
+
+He turned away and hurried from the room. Rita flushed slightly and
+exchanged a glance with Sir Lucien. Mrs. Sin, who had been watching the
+three intently, did not fail to perceive this glance. Mollie Gretna
+characteristically said a silly thing.
+
+“Oh!” she cried. “I wonder whatever is the matter with him! He looks as
+though he had gone mad!”
+
+“It is perhaps his heart,” said Mrs. Sin harshly, and she raised her
+bold dark eyes to Sir Lucien’s face.
+
+“Oh, please don’t talk about hearts,” cried Rita, willfully
+misunderstanding. “Monte has a weak heart, and it frightens me.”
+
+“So?” murmured Mrs. Sin. “Poor fellow.”
+
+“_I_ think a weak heart is most romantic,” declared Mollie Gretna.
+
+But Gray’s behavior had cast a shadow upon the party which even
+Mollie’s empty light-hearted chatter was powerless to dispel, and when,
+shortly after midnight, Sir Lucien drove Rita home to Prince’s Gate,
+they were very silent throughout the journey. Just before the car
+reached the house:
+
+“Where does Mrs. Sin live?” asked Rita, although it was not of Mrs. Sin
+that she had been thinking.
+
+“In Limehouse, I believe,” replied Sir Lucien; “at The House. But I
+fancy she has rooms somewhere in town also.”
+
+He stayed only a few minutes at Prince’s Gate, and as the car returned
+along Piccadilly, Sir Lucien, glancing upward towards the windows of a
+tall block of chambers facing the Green Park, observed a light in one
+of them. Acting upon a sudden impulse, he raised the speaking-tube.
+
+“Pull up, Fraser,” he directed.
+
+The chauffeur stopped the car and Sir Lucien alighted, glancing at the
+clock inside as he did so, and smiling at his own quixotic behavior. He
+entered an imposing doorway and rang one of the bells. There was an
+interval of two minutes or so, when the door opened and a man looked
+out.
+
+“Is that you, Willis?” asked Pyne.
+
+“Oh, I beg pardon, Sir Lucien. I didn’t know you in the dark.”
+
+“Has Mr. Gray retired yet?”
+
+“Not yet. Will you please follow me, Sir Lucien. The stairway lights
+are off.”
+
+A few moments later Sir Lucien was shown into the apartment of Gray’s
+which oddly combined the atmosphere of a gymnasium with that of a
+study. Gray, wearing a dressing-gown and having a pipe in his mouth,
+was standing up to receive his visitor, his face rather pale and the
+expression of his lips at variance with that in his eyes. But:
+
+“Hello, Pyne,” he said quietly. “Anything wrong—or have you just looked
+in for a smoke?”
+
+Sir Lucien smiled a trifle sadly.
+
+“I wanted a chat, Gray,” he replied. “I’m leaving town tomorrow, or I
+should not have intruded at such an unearthly hour.”
+
+“No intrusion,” muttered Gray; “try the armchair, no, the big one. It’s
+more comfortable.” He raised his voice: “Willis, bring some fluid!”
+
+Sir Lucien sat down, and from the pocket of his dinner jacket took out
+a plain brown packet of cigarettes and selected one.
+
+“Here,” said Gray, “have a cigar!”
+
+“No, thanks,” replied Pyne. “I rarely smoke anything but these.”
+
+“Never seen that kind of packet before,” declared Gray. “What brand are
+they?”
+
+“No particular brand. They are imported from Buenos Ayres, I believe.”
+
+Willis having brought in a tray of refreshments and departed again, Sir
+Lucien came at once to the point.
+
+“I really called, Gray,” he said, “to clear up any misunderstanding
+there may be in regard to Rita Irvin.”
+
+Quentin Gray looked up suddenly when he heard Rita’s name, and:
+
+“What misunderstanding?” he asked.
+
+“Regarding the nature of my friendship with her,” answered Sir Lucien
+coolly. “Now, I am going to speak quite bluntly, Gray, because I like
+Rita and I respect her. I also like and respect Monte Irvin; and I
+don’t want you, or anybody else, to think that Rita and I are, or ever
+have been, anything more than pals. I have known her long enough to
+have learned that she sails straight, and has always sailed straight.
+Now—listen, Gray, please. You embarrassed me tonight, old chap, and you
+embarrassed Rita. It was unnecessary.” He paused, and then added
+slowly: “She is as sacred to me, Gray, as she is to you—and we are both
+friends of Monte Irvin.”
+
+For a moment Quentin Gray’s fiery temper flickered up, as his
+heightened color showed, but the coolness of the older and cleverer man
+prevailed. Gray laughed, stood up, and held out his hand.
+
+“You’re right, Pyne!” he said. “But she’s damn pretty!” He uttered a
+loud sigh. “If only she were not married!”
+
+Sir Lucien gripped the outstretched hand, but his answering smile had
+much pathos in it.
+
+“If only she were not, Gray,” he echoed.
+
+He took his departure shortly afterwards, absently leaving a brown
+packet of cigarettes upon the table. It was an accident. Yet there were
+few, when the truth respecting Sir Lucien Pyne became known, who did
+not believe it to have been a deliberate act, designed to lure Quentin
+Gray into the path of the poppy.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+THE STRANGLE-HOLD
+
+
+Less than a month later Rita was in a state of desperation again.
+Kazmah’s prices had soared above anything that he had hitherto
+extorted. Her bank account, as usual, was greatly overdrawn, and
+creditors of all kinds were beginning to press for payment. Then,
+crowning catastrophe, Monte Irvin, for the first time during their
+married life, began to take an interest in Rita’s reckless expenditure.
+By a combination of adverse circumstances, she, the wife of one of the
+wealthiest aldermen of the City of London, awakened to the fact that
+literally she had no money.
+
+She pawned as much of her jewellery as she could safely dispose of, and
+temporarily silenced the more threatening tradespeople; but Kazmah
+declined to give credit, and cheques had never been acceptable at the
+establishment in old Bond Street.
+
+Rita feverishly renewed her old quest, seeking in all directions for
+some less extortionate purveyor. But none was to be found. The
+selfishness and secretiveness of the drug slave made it difficult for
+her to learn on what terms others obtained Kazmah’s precious goods; but
+although his prices undoubtedly varied, she was convinced that no one
+of all his clients was so cruelly victimized as she.
+
+Mollie Gretna endeavored to obtain an extra supply to help Rita, but
+Kazmah evidently saw through the device, and the endeavor proved a
+failure.
+
+She demanded to see Kazmah, but Rashîd, the Egyptian, blandly assured
+her that “the Sheikh-el-Kazmah” was away. She cast discretion to the
+winds and wrote to him, protesting that it was utterly impossible for
+her to raise so much ready money as he demanded, and begging him to
+grant her a small supply or to accept the letter as a promissory note
+to be redeemed in three months. No answer was received, but when Rita
+again called at old Bond Street, Rashîd proposed one of the few
+compromises which the frenzied woman found herself unwilling to accept.
+
+“The Sheikh-el-Kazmah say, my lady, your friend Mr. Gray never come to
+him. If you bring him it will be all right.”
+
+Rita found herself stricken dumb by this cool proposal. The degradation
+which awaits the drug slave had never been more succinctly expounded to
+her. She was to employ Gray’s foolish devotion for the commercial
+advantage of Kazmah. Of course Gray might any day become one of the
+three wealthiest peers in the realm. She divined the meaning of
+Kazmah’s hitherto incomprehensible harshness (or believed that she
+did); she saw what was expected of her. “My God!” she whispered. “I
+have not come to that yet.”
+
+Rashîd she knew to be incorruptible or powerless, and she turned away,
+trembling, and left the place, whose faint perfume of frankincense had
+latterly become hateful to her.
+
+She was at this time bordering upon a state of collapse. Insomnia,
+which latterly had defied dangerously increased doses of veronal, was
+telling upon nerve and brain. Now, her head aching so that she often
+wondered how long she could retain sanity, she found herself deprived
+not only of cocaine, but also of malourea. Margaret Halley was her last
+hope, and to Margaret she hastened on the day before the tragedy which
+was destined to bring to light the sinister operations of the Kazmah
+group.
+
+Although, perhaps mercifully, she was unaware of the fact,
+representatives of Spinker’s Agency had been following her during the
+whole of the preceding fortnight. That Rita was in desperate trouble of
+some kind her husband had not failed to perceive, and her reticence had
+quite naturally led him to a certain conclusion. He had sought to win
+her confidence by every conceivable means and had failed. At last had
+come doubt—and the hateful interview with Spinker.
+
+As Rita turned in at the doorway below Margaret’s flat, then, Brisley
+was lighting a cigarette in the shelter of a porch nearly opposite, and
+Gunn was not far away.
+
+Margaret immediately perceived that her friend’s condition was
+alarming. But she realized that whatever the cause to which it might be
+due, it gave her the opportunity for which she had been waiting. She
+wrote a prescription containing one grain of cocaine, but declined
+firmly to issue others unless Rita authorized her, in writing, to
+undertake a cure of the drug habit.
+
+Rita’s disjointed statements pointed to a conspiracy of some kind on
+the part of those who had been supplying her with drugs, but Margaret
+knew from experience that to exhibit curiosity in regard to the matter
+would be merely to provoke evasions.
+
+A hopeless day and a pain-racked, sleepless night found Kazmah’s
+unhappy victim in the mood for any measure, however desperate, which
+should promise even temporary relief. Monte Irvin went out very early,
+and at about eleven o’clock Rita rang up Kazmah’s, but only to be
+informed by Rashîd, who replied, that Kazmah was still away. “This
+evening he tell me that he see your friend if he come, my lady.” As if
+the Fates sought to test her endurance to the utmost, Quentin Gray
+called shortly afterwards and invited her to dine with him and go to a
+theatre that evening.
+
+For five age-long seconds Rita hesitated. If no plan offered itself by
+nightfall she knew that her last scruple would be conquered. “After
+all,” whispered a voice within her brain, “Quentin is a man. Even if I
+took him to Kazmah’s and he was in some way induced to try opium, or
+even cocaine, he would probably never become addicted to drug-taking.
+But I should have done my part—”
+
+“Very well, Quentin,” she heard herself saying aloud. “Will you call
+for me?”
+
+But when he had gone Rita sat for more than half an hour, quite still,
+her hands clenched and her face a tragic mask. (Gunn, of Spinker’s
+Agency, reported telephonically to Monte Irvin in the City that the
+Hon. Quentin Gray had called and had remained about twenty-five
+minutes; that he had proceeded to the Prince’s Restaurant, and from
+there to Mudie’s, where he had booked a box at the Gaiety Theatre.)
+
+Towards the fall of dusk the more dreadful symptoms which attend upon a
+sudden cessation of the use of cocaine by a victim of cocainophagia
+began to assert themselves again. Rita searched wildly in the lining of
+her jewel-case to discover if even a milligram of the drug had by
+chance fallen there from the little gold box. But the quest was in
+vain.
+
+As a final resort she determined to go to Margaret Halley again.
+
+She hurried to Dover Street, and her last hope was shattered. Margaret
+was out, and Janet had no idea when she was likely to return. Rita had
+much ado to prevent herself from bursting into tears. She scribbled a
+few lines, without quite knowing what she was writing, sealed the paper
+in an envelope, and left it on Margaret’s table.
+
+Of returning to Prince’s Gate and dressing for the evening she had only
+a hazy impression. The hammer-beats in her head were depriving her of
+reasoning power, and she felt cold, numbed, although a big fire blazed
+in her room. Then as she sat before her mirror, drearily wondering if
+her face really looked as drawn and haggard as the image in the glass,
+or if definite delusions were beginning, Nina came in and spoke to her.
+Some moments elapsed before Rita could grasp the meaning of the girl’s
+words.
+
+“Sir Lucien Pyne has rung up, Madam, and wishes to speak to you.”
+
+Sir Lucien! Sir Lucien had come back? Rita experienced a swift return
+of feverish energy. Half dressed as she was, and without pausing to
+take a wrap, she ran out to the telephone.
+
+Never had a man’s voice sounded so sweet as that of Sir Lucien when he
+spoke across the wires. He was at Albemarle Street, and Rita, wasting
+no time in explanations, begged him to await her there. In another ten
+minutes she had completed her toilette and had sent Nina to ’phone for
+a cab. (One of the minor details of his wife’s behavior which latterly
+had aroused Irvin’s distrust was her frequent employment of public
+vehicles in preference to either of the cars.)
+
+Quentin Gray she had quite forgotten, until, as she was about to leave:
+
+“Is there any message for Mr. Gray, Madam?” inquired Nina naively.
+
+“Oh!” cried Rita. “Of course! Quick! Give me some paper and a pencil.”
+
+She wrote a hasty note, merely asking Gray to proceed to the
+restaurant, where she promised to join him, left it in charge of the
+maid, and hurried off to Albemarle Street.
+
+Mareno, the silent, yellow-faced servant who had driven the car on the
+night of Rita’s first visit to Limehouse, admitted her. He showed her
+immediately into the lofty study, where Sir Lucien awaited.
+
+“Oh, Lucy—Lucy!” she cried, almost before the door had closed behind
+Mareno. “I am desperate—desperate!”
+
+Sir Lucien placed a chair for her. His face looked very drawn and grim.
+But Rita was in too highly strung a condition to observe this fact, or
+indeed to observe anything.
+
+“Tell me,” he said gently.
+
+And in a torrent of disconnected, barely coherent language, the
+tortured woman told him of Kazmah’s attempt to force her to lure
+Quentin Gray into the drug coterie. Sir Lucien stood behind her chair,
+and the icy reserve which habitually rendered his face an impenetrable
+mask deserted him as the story of Rita’s treatment at the hands of the
+Egyptian of Bond Street was unfolded in all its sordid hideousness.
+Rita’s soft, musical voice, for which of old she had been famous, shook
+and wavered; her pose, her twitching gestures, all told of a nervous
+agony bordering on prostration or worse. Finally:
+
+“He dare not refuse you!” she cried. “Ring him up and insist upon him
+seeing me tonight!”
+
+“_I_ will see him, Rita.”
+
+She turned to him, wild-eyed.
+
+“You shall not! You shall not!” she said. “I am going to speak to that
+man face to face, and if he is human he must listen to me. Oh! I have
+realized the hold he has upon me, Lucy! I know what it means, this
+disappearance of all the others who used to sell what Kazmah sells. If
+I am to suffer, _he_ shall not escape! I swear it. Either he listens to
+me tonight or I go straight to the police!”
+
+“Be calm, little girl,” whispered Sir Lucien, and he laid his hand upon
+her shoulder.
+
+But she leapt up, her pupils suddenly dilating and her delicate
+nostrils twitching in a manner which unmistakably pointed to the
+impossibility of thwarting her if sanity were to be retained.
+
+“Ring him up, Lucy,” she repeated in a low voice. “He is there. Now
+that I have someone behind me I see my way at last!”
+
+“There may, nevertheless, be a better way,” said Sir Lucien; but he
+added quickly: “Very well, dear, I will do as you wish. I have a little
+cocaine, which I will give you.”
+
+He went out to the telephone, carefully closing the study door.
+
+That he had counted upon the influence of the drug to reduce Rita to a
+more reasonable frame of mind was undoubtedly the fact, for presently
+as they proceeded on foot towards old Bond Street he reverted to
+something like his old ironical manner. But Rita’s determination was
+curiously fixed. Unmoved by every kind of appeal, she proceeded to the
+appointment which Sir Lucien had made—ignorant of that which Fate held
+in store for her—and Sir Lucien, also humanly blind, walked on to meet
+his death.
+
+
+
+
+PART THIRD
+THE MAN FROM WHITEHALL
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII.
+CHIEF INSPECTOR KERRY RESIGNS
+
+
+“Come in,” said the Assistant Commissioner. The door opened and Chief
+Inspector Kerry entered. His face was as fresh-looking, his attire as
+spruce and his eyes were as bright, as though he had slept well,
+enjoyed his bath and partaken of an excellent breakfast. Whereas he had
+not been to bed during the preceding twenty-four hours, had breakfasted
+upon biscuits and coffee, and had spent the night and early morning in
+ceaseless toil. Nevertheless he had found time to visit a hairdressing
+saloon, for he prided himself upon the nicety of his personal
+appearance.
+
+He laid his hat, cane and overall upon a chair, and from a pocket of
+his reefer jacket took out a big notebook.
+
+“Good morning, sir,” he said.
+
+“Good morning, Chief Inspector,” replied the Assistant Commissioner.
+“Pray be seated. No doubt”—he suppressed a weary sigh—“you have a long
+report to make. I observe that some of the papers have the news of Sir
+Lucien Pyne’s death.”
+
+Chief Inspector Kerry smiled savagely.
+
+“Twenty pressmen are sitting downstairs,” he said “waiting for
+particulars. One of them got into my room.” He opened his notebook. “He
+didn’t stay long.”
+
+The Assistant Commissioner gazed wearily at his blotting-pad, striking
+imaginary chords upon the table-edge with his large widely extended
+fingers. He cleared his throat.
+
+“Er—Chief Inspector,” he said, “I fully recognize the difficulties
+which—you follow me? But the Press is the Press. Neither you nor I
+could hope to battle against such an institution even if we desired to
+do so. Where active resistance is useless, a little tact—you quite
+understand?”
+
+“Quite, sir. Rely upon me,” replied Kerry. “But I didn’t mean to open
+my mouth until I had reported to you. Now, sir, here is a précis of
+evidence, nearly complete, written out clearly by Sergeant Coombes. You
+would probably prefer to read it?”
+
+“Yes, yes, I will read it. But has Sergeant Coombes been on duty all
+night?”
+
+“He has, sir, and so have I. Sergeant Coombes went home an hour ago.”
+
+“Ah,” murmured the Assistant Commissioner
+
+He took the notebook from Kerry, and resting his head upon his hand
+began to read. Kerry sat very upright in his chair, chewing slowly and
+watching the profile of the reader with his unwavering steel-blue eyes.
+The reading was twice punctuated by telephone messages, but the
+Assistant Commissioner apparently possessed the Napoleonic faculty of
+doing two things at once, for his gaze travelled uninterruptedly along
+the lines of the report throughout the time that he issued telephonic
+instructions.
+
+When he had arrived at the final page of Coombes’ neat, schoolboy
+writing, he did not look up for a minute or more, continuing to rest
+his head in the palm of his hand. Then:
+
+“So far you have not succeeded in establishing the identity of the
+missing man, Kazmah?” he said.
+
+“Not so far, sir,” replied Kerry, enunciating the words with
+characteristic swift precision, each syllable distinct as the rap of a
+typewriter. “Inspector Whiteleaf, of Vine Street, has questioned all
+constables in the Piccadilly area, and we have seen members of the
+staffs of many shops and offices in the neighborhood, but no one is
+familiar with the appearance of the missing man.”
+
+“Ah—now, the Egyptian servant?”
+
+Inspector Kerry moved his shoulders restlessly.
+
+“Rashîd is his name. Many of the people in the neighborhood knew him by
+sight, and at five o’clock this morning one of my assistants had the
+good luck to find out, from an Arab coffee-house keeper named Abdulla,
+where Rashîd lived. He paid a visit to the place—it’s off the West
+India Dock Road—half an hour later. But Rashîd had gone. I regret to
+report that all traces of him have been lost.”
+
+“Ah—considering this circumstance side by side with the facts that no
+scrap of evidence has come to light in the Kazmah premises and that the
+late Sir Lucien’s private books and papers cannot be found, what do you
+deduce, Chief Inspector?”
+
+“My report indicates what I deduce, sir! An accomplice of Kazmah’s must
+have been in Sir Lucien’s household! Kazmah and Mrs. Irvin can only
+have left the premises by going up to the roof and across the leads to
+Sir Lucien’s flat in Albemarle Street. I shall charge the man Juan
+Mareno.”
+
+“What has he to say?” murmured the Assistant Commissioner, absently
+turning over the pages of the notebook. “Ah, yes. ‘Claims to be a
+citizen of the United States but has produced no papers. Engaged by Sir
+Lucien Pyne in San Francisco. Professes to have no evidence to offer.
+Admitted Mrs. Monte Irvin to Sir Lucien’s flat on night of murder. Sir
+Lucien and Mrs. Irvin went out together shortly afterwards, and Sir
+Lucien ordered him (Mareno) to go for the car to garage in South Audley
+Street and drive to club, where Sir Lucien proposed to dine. Mareno
+claims to have followed instructions. After waiting near club for an
+hour, learned from hall porter that Sir Lucien had not been there that
+evening. Drove car back to garage and returned to Albemarle Street
+shortly after eight o’clock.’ H’m. Is this confirmed in any way?”
+
+Kerry’s teeth snapped together viciously.
+
+“Up to a point it is, sir. The club porter remembers Mareno inquiring
+about Sir Lucien, and the people at the garage testify that he took out
+the car and returned it as stated.”
+
+“No one has come forward who actually saw him waiting outside the
+club?”
+
+“No one. But unfortunately it was a dark, misty night, and cars waiting
+for club members stand in a narrow side turning. Mareno is a surly
+brute, and he might have waited an hour without speaking to a soul.
+Unless another chauffeur happened to notice and recognize the car
+nobody would be any wiser.”
+
+The Assistant Commissioner sighed, glancing up for the first time.
+
+“You don’t think he waited outside the club at all?” he said.
+
+“I don’t, sir!” rapped Kerry.
+
+The Assistant Commissioner rested his head upon his hand again.
+
+“It doesn’t seem to be germane to your case, Chief Inspector, in any
+event. There is no question of an alibi. Sir Lucien’s wrist-watch was
+broken at seven-fifteen—evidently at the time of his death; and this
+man Mareno does not claim to have left the flat until after that hour.”
+
+“I know it, sir,” said Kerry. “He took out the car at half-past seven.
+What I want to know is where he went to!”
+
+The Assistant Commissioner glanced rapidly into the speaker’s fierce
+eyes.
+
+“From what you have gathered respecting the appearance of Kazmah, does
+it seem possible that Mareno may be Kazmah?”
+
+“It does not, sir. Kazmah has been described to me, at first hand and
+at second hand. All descriptions tally in one respect: Kazmah has
+remarkably large eyes. In Miss Halley’s evidence you will note that she
+refers to them as ‘larger than any human eyes I have ever seen.’ Now,
+Mareno has eyes like a pig!”
+
+“Then I take it you are charging him as accessory?”
+
+“Exactly, sir. Somebody got Kazmah and Mrs. Irvin away, and it can only
+have been Mareno. Sir Lucien had no other resident servant; he was a
+man who lived almost entirely at restaurants and clubs. Again, somebody
+cleaned up his papers, and it was somebody who knew where to look for
+them.”
+
+“Quite so—quite so,” murmured the Assistant Commissioner. “Of course,
+we shall learn today something of his affairs from his banker. He must
+have banked _somewhere_. But surely, Chief Inspector, there is a safe
+or private bureau in his flat?”
+
+“There is, sir,” said Kerry grimly; “a safe. I had it opened at six
+o’clock this morning. It had been hastily cleaned out; not a doubt of
+it. I expect Sir Lucien carried the keys on his person. You will
+remember, sir, that his pockets had been emptied?”
+
+“H’m,” mused the Assistant Commissioner. “This Cubanis Cigarette
+Company, Chief Inspector?”
+
+“Dummy goods!” rapped Kerry. “A blind. Just a back entrance to Kazmah’s
+office. Premises were leased on behalf of an agent. This agent—a
+reputable man of business—paid the rent quarterly. I’ve seen him.”
+
+“And who was his client?” asked the Assistant Commissioner, displaying
+a faint trace of interest.
+
+“A certain Mr. Isaacs!”
+
+“Who can be traced?”
+
+“Who can’t be traced!”
+
+“His checks?”
+
+Chief Inspector Kerry smiled, so that his large white teeth gleamed
+savagely.
+
+“Mr. Isaacs represented himself as a dealer in Covent Garden who was
+leasing the office for a lady friend, and who desired, for domestic
+reasons, to cover his tracks. As ready money in large amounts changes
+hands in the market, Mr. Isaacs paid ready money to the agent. Beyond
+doubt the real source of the ready money was Kazmah’s.”
+
+“But his address?”
+
+“A hotel in Covent Garden.”
+
+“Where he lives?”
+
+“Where he is known to the booking-clerk, a girl who allowed him to have
+letters addressed there. A man of smoke, sir, acting on behalf of
+someone in the background.”
+
+“Ah! and these Bond Street premises have been occupied by Kazmah for
+the past eight years?”
+
+“So I am told. I have yet to see representatives of the landlord. I may
+add that Sir Lucien Pyne had lived in Albemarle Street for about the
+same time.”
+
+Wearily raising his head:
+
+“The point is certainly significant,” said the Assistant Commissioner.
+“Now we come to the drug traffic, Chief Inspector. You have found no
+trace of drugs on the premises?”
+
+“Not a grain, sir!”
+
+“In the office of the cigarette firm?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“By the way, was there no staff attached to the latter concern?”
+
+Kerry chewed viciously.
+
+“No business of any kind seems to have been done there,” he replied.
+“An office-boy employed by the solicitor on the same floor as Kazmah
+has seen a man and also a woman, go up to the third floor on several
+occasions, and he seems to think they went to the Cubanis office. But
+he’s not sure, and he can give no useful description of the parties,
+anyway. Nobody in the building has ever seen the door open before this
+morning.”
+
+The Assistant Commissioner sighed yet more wearily.
+
+“Apart from the suspicions of Miss Margaret Halley, you have no sound
+basis for supposing that Kazmah dealt in prohibited drugs?” he
+inquired.
+
+“The evidence of Miss Halley, the letter left for her by Mrs. Irvin,
+and the fact that Mrs. Irvin said, in the presence of Mr. Quentin Gray,
+that she had ‘a particular reason’ for seeing Kazmah, point to it
+unmistakably, sir. Then, I have seen Mrs. Irvin’s maid. (Mr. Monte
+Irvin is still too unwell to be interrogated.) The girl was very
+frightened, but she admitted outright that she had been in the habit of
+going regularly to Kazmah for certain perfumes. She wouldn’t admit that
+she knew the flasks contained cocaine or veronal, but she did admit
+that her mistress had been addicted to the drug habit for several
+years. It began when she was on the stage.”
+
+“Ah, yes,” murmured the Assistant Commissioner; “she was Rita Dresden,
+was she not—_The Maid of the Masque?_ A very pretty and talented
+actress. A pity—a great pity. So the girl, characteristically, is
+trying to save herself?”
+
+“She is,” said Kerry grimly. “But it cuts no ice. There is another
+point. After this report was made out, a message reached me from Miss
+Halley, as a result of which I visited Mr. Quentin Gray early this
+morning.”
+
+“Dear, dear,” sighed the Assistant Commissioner, “your intense zeal and
+activity are admirable, Chief Inspector, but appalling. And what did
+you learn?”
+
+From an inside pocket Chief Inspector Kerry took out a plain brown
+paper packet containing several cigarettes and laid the packet on the
+table.
+
+“I got these, sir,” he said grimly. “They were left at Mr. Gray’s some
+weeks ago by the late Sir Lucien. They are doped.”
+
+The Assistant Commissioner, his head resting upon his hand, gazed
+abstractedly at the packet. “If only you could trace the source of
+supply,” he murmured.
+
+“That brings me to my last point, sir. From Mrs. Irvin’s maid I learned
+that her mistress was acquainted with a certain Mrs. Sin.”
+
+“Mrs. Sin? Incredible name.”
+
+“She’s a woman reputed to be married to a Chinaman. Inspector
+Whiteleaf, of Vine Street, knows her by sight as one of the night-club
+birds—a sort of mysterious fungus, sir, flowering in the dark and
+fattening on gilded fools. Unless I’m greatly mistaken, Mrs. Sin is the
+link between the doped cigarettes and the missing Kazmah.”
+
+“Does anyone know where she lives?”
+
+“Lots of ’em know!” snapped Kerry. “But it’s making them speak.”
+
+“To whom do you more particularly refer, Chief Inspector?”
+
+“To the moneyed asses and the brainless women belonging to a certain
+West End set, sir,” said Kerry savagely. “They go in for every
+monstrosity from Buenos Ayres, Port Said and Pekin. They get up dances
+that would make a wooden horse blush. They eat _hashish_ and they smoke
+opium. They inject morphine, and they would have their hair dyed blue
+if they heard it was ‘being done.’”
+
+“Ah,” sighed the Assistant Commissioner, “a very delicate and complex
+case, Chief Inspector. The agony of mind which Mr. Irvin must be
+suffering is too horrible for one to contemplate. An admirable man,
+too; honorable and generous. I can conceive no theory to account for
+the disappearance of Mrs. Irvin other than that she was a party to the
+murder.”
+
+“No, sir,” said Kerry guardedly. “But we have the dope clue to work on.
+That the Chinese receive stuff in the East End and that it’s sold in
+the West End every constable in the force is well aware. Leman Street
+is getting busy, and every shady case in the Piccadilly area will be
+beaten up within the next twenty-four hours, too. It’s purely
+departmental, sir, from now onwards, and merely a question of time.
+Therefore I don’t doubt the issue.”
+
+Kerry paused, cleared his throat, and produced a foolscap envelope
+which he laid upon the table before the Assistant Commissioner.
+
+“With very deep regret, sir,” he said, “after a long and agreeable
+association with the Criminal Investigation Department, I have to
+tender you this.”
+
+The Assistant Commissioner took up the envelope and stared at it
+vaguely.
+
+“Ah, yes, Chief Inspector,” he murmured. “Perhaps I fail entirely to
+follow you; I am somewhat over-worked, as you know. What does this
+envelope contain?”
+
+“My resignation, sir,” replied Kerry.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV.
+TO INTRODUCE 719
+
+
+Some moments of silence followed. Sounds of traffic from the Embankment
+penetrated dimly to the room of the Assistant Commissioner; ringing of
+tram bells and that vague sustained noise which is created by the
+whirring of countless wheels along hard pavements. Finally:
+
+“You have selected a curious moment to retire, Chief Inspector,” said
+the Assistant Commissioner. “Your prospects were never better. No doubt
+you have considered the question of your pension?”
+
+“I know what I’m giving up, sir,” replied Kerry.
+
+The Assistant Commissioner slowly revolved in his chair and gazed sadly
+at the speaker. Chief Inspector Kerry met his glance with that
+fearless, unflinching stare which lent him so formidable an appearance.
+
+“You might care to favor me with some explanation which I can lay
+before the Chief Commissioner?”
+
+Kerry snapped his white teeth together viciously.
+
+“May I take it, sir, that you accept my resignation?”
+
+“Certainly not. I will place it before the responsible authority. I can
+do no more.”
+
+“Without disrespect, sir, I want to speak to you as man to man. As a
+private citizen I could do it. As your subordinate I can’t.”
+
+The Assistant Commissioner sighed, stroking his neatly brushed hair
+with one large hand.
+
+“Equally without disrespect, Chief Inspector,” he murmured, “it is news
+for me to learn that you have ever refrained from speaking your mind
+either in my presence or in the presence of any man.”
+
+Kerry smiled, unable wholly to conceal a sense of gratified vanity.
+
+“Well, sir,” he said, “you have my resignation before you, and I’m
+prepared to abide by the consequences. What I want to say is this: I’m
+a man that has worked hard all his life to earn the respect and the
+trust of his employers. I am supposed to be Chief Inspector of this
+department, and as Chief Inspector I’ll kow-tow to nothing on two legs
+once I’ve been put in charge of a case. I work right in the sunshine.
+There’s no grafting about me. I draw my salary every week, and any man
+that says I earn sixpence in the dark is at liberty to walk right in
+here and deposit his funeral expenses. If I’m supposed to be under a
+cloud—there’s my reply. But I demand a public inquiry.”
+
+At ever increasing speed, succinctly, viciously he rapped out the
+words. His red face grew more red, and his steel-blue eyes more fierce.
+The Assistant Commissioner exhibited bewilderment. As the high tones
+ceased:
+
+“Really, Chief Inspector,” he said, “you pain and surprise me. I do not
+profess to be ignorant of the cause of your—annoyance. But perhaps if I
+acquaint you with the facts of my own position in the matter you will
+be open to reconsider your decision.”
+
+Kerry cleared his throat loudly.
+
+“I won’t work in the dark, sir,” he declared truculently. “I’d rather
+be a pavement artist and my own master than Chief Inspector with an
+unknown spy following me about.”
+
+“Quite so—quite so.” The Assistant Commissioner was wonderfully
+patient. “Very well, Chief Inspector. It cannot enhance my personal
+dignity to admit the fact, but I’m nearly as much in the dark as
+yourself.”
+
+“What’s that, sir?” Kerry sat bolt upright, staring at the speaker.
+
+“At a late hour last night the Secretary of State communicated in
+person with the Chief Commissioner—at the latter’s town residence. He
+instructed him to offer every facility to a newly appointed agent of
+the Home office who was empowered to conduct an official inquiry into
+the drug traffic. As a result Vine Street was advised that the Home
+office investigator would proceed at once to Kazmah’s premises, and
+from thence wherever available clues might lead him. For some reason
+which has not yet been explained to me, this investigator chooses to
+preserve a strict anonymity.”
+
+Traces of irritation became perceptible in the weary voice. Kerry
+staring, in silence, the Assistant Commissioner continued:
+
+“I have been advised that this nameless agent is in a position to
+establish his bona fides at any time, as he bears a number of these
+cards. You see, Chief Inspector, I am frank with you.”
+
+From a table drawer the Assistant Commissioner took a visiting-card,
+which he handed to Kerry. The latter stared at it as one stares at a
+rare specimen. It was the card of Lord Wrexborough, His Majesty’s
+Principal Secretary of State for the Home Department, and in the
+cramped caligraphy of his lordship it bore a brief note, initialled,
+thus:
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Some moments of silence followed; then:
+
+“Seven-one-nine,” said Kerry in a high, strained voice. “Why
+seven-one-nine? And why all this hocus-pocus? Am I to understand, sir,
+that not only myself but all the Criminal Investigation Department is
+under a cloud?”
+
+The Assistant Commissioner stroked his hair.
+
+“You are to understand, Chief Inspector, that for the first time
+throughout my period of office I find myself out of touch with the
+Chief Commissioner. It is not departmental for me to say so, but I
+believe the Chief Commissioner finds himself similarly out of touch
+with the Secretary of State. Apparently very powerful influences are at
+work, and the line of conduct taken up by the Home office suggests to
+my mind that collusion between the receivers and distributors of drugs
+and the police is suspected by someone. That being so, possibly out of
+a sense of fairness to all officially concerned, the committee which I
+understand has been appointed to inquire into the traffic has decided
+to treat us all alike, from myself down to the rawest constable. It’s
+highly irritating and preposterous, of course, but I cannot disguise
+from you or from myself that we are on trial, Chief Inspector!”
+
+Kerry stood up and slowly moved his square shoulders in the manner of
+an athlete about to attempt a feat of weight-lifting. From the
+Assistant Commissioner’s table he took the envelope which contained his
+resignation, and tore it into several portions. These he deposited in a
+waste-paper basket.
+
+“That’s that!” he said. “I am very deeply indebted to you, sir. I know
+now what to tell the Press.”
+
+The Assistant Commissioner glanced up.
+
+“Not a word about 719,” he said, “of course, you understand this?”
+
+“If we don’t exist as far as 719 is concerned, sir,” said Kerry in his
+most snappy tones, “719 means nothing to me!”
+
+“Quite so—quite so. Of course, I may be wrong in the motives which I
+ascribe to this Whitehall agent, but misunderstanding is certain to
+arise out of a system of such deliberate mystification, which can only
+be compared to that employed by the Russian police under the Tsars.”
+
+Half an hour later Chief Inspector Kerry came out of New Scotland Yard,
+and, walking down on to the Embankment, boarded a Norwood tramcar. The
+weather remained damp and gloomy, but upon the red face of Chief
+Inspector Kerry, as he mounted to the upper deck of the car, rested an
+expression which might have been described as one of cheery truculence.
+Where other passengers, coat collars upturned, gazed gloomily from the
+windows at the yellow murk overhanging the river, Kerry looked briskly
+about him, smiling pleasurably.
+
+He was homeward bound, and when he presently alighted and went swinging
+along Spenser Road towards his house, he was still smiling. He regarded
+the case as having developed into a competition between himself and the
+man appointed by Whitehall. And it was just such a position,
+disconcerting to one of less aggressive temperament, which stimulated
+Chief Inspector Kerry and put him in high good humor.
+
+Mrs. Kerry, arrayed in a serviceable rain-coat, and wearing a plain
+felt hat, was standing by the dining-room door as Kerry entered. She
+had a basket on her arm. “I was waiting for ye, Dan,” she said simply.
+
+He kissed her affectionately, put his arm about her waist, and the two
+entered the cosy little room. By no ordinary human means was it
+possible that Mary Kerry should have known that her husband would come
+home at that time, but he was so used to her prescience in this respect
+that he offered no comment. She “kenned” his approach always, and at
+times when his life had been in danger—and these were not of infrequent
+occurrence—Mary Kerry, if sleeping, had awakened, trembling, though the
+scene of peril were a hundred miles away, and if awake had blanched and
+known a deadly sudden fear.
+
+“Ye’ll be goin’ to bed?” she asked.
+
+“For three hours, Mary. Don’t fail to rouse me if I oversleep.”
+
+“Is it clear to ye yet?”
+
+“Nearly clear. The dark thing you saw behind it all, Mary, was dope!
+Kazmah’s is a secret drug-syndicate. They’ve appointed a Home office
+agent, and he’s working independently of us, but...”
+
+His teeth came together with a snap.
+
+“Oh, Dan,” said his wife, “it’s a race? Drugs? A Home office agent?
+Dan, they think the Force is in it?”
+
+“They do!” rapped Kerry. “I’m for Leman Street in three hours. If
+there’s double-dealing behind it, then the mugs are in the East End,
+and it’s folly, not knavery, I’m looking for. It’s a race, Mary, and
+the credit of the Service is at stake! No, my dear, I’ll have a snack
+when I wake. You’re going shopping?”
+
+“I am, Dan. I’d ha’ started, but I wanted to see ye when ye came hame.
+If ye’ve only three hours go straight up the now. I’ll ha’ something
+hot a’ ready when ye waken.”
+
+Ten minutes later Kerry was in bed, his short clay pipe between his
+teeth, and _The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius_ in his hand. Such was
+his customary sleeping-draught, and it had never been known to fail.
+Half a pipe of Irish twist and three pages of the sad imperial author
+invariably plunged Chief Inspector Kerry into healthy slumber.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV.
+NIGHT-LIFE OF SOHO
+
+
+It was close upon midnight when Detective-Sergeant Coombes appeared in
+a certain narrow West End thoroughfare, which was lined with taxicabs
+and private cars. He wore a dark overcoat and a tweed cap, and although
+his chin was buried in the genial folds of a woollen comforter, and his
+cap was pulled down over his eyes, his sly smile could easily be
+detected even in the dim light afforded by the car lamps. He seemed to
+have business of a mysterious nature among the cabmen; for with each of
+them in turn he conducted a brief conversation, passing unobtrusively
+from cab to cab, and making certain entries in a notebook. Finally he
+disappeared. No one actually saw him go, and no one had actually seen
+him arrive. At one moment, however, he was there; in the next he was
+gone.
+
+Five minutes later Chief Inspector Kerry entered the street. His dark
+overcoat and white silk muffler concealed a spruce dress suit, a fact
+betrayed by black, braided trousers, unusually tight-fitting, and boots
+which almost glittered. He carried the silver-headed malacca cane, and
+had retained his narrow-brimmed bowler at its customary jaunty angle.
+
+Passing the lines of waiting vehicles, he walked into the entrance of a
+popular night-club which faced the narrow street. On a lounge
+immediately inside the doorway a heated young man was sitting fanning
+his dancing partner and gazing into her weakly pretty face in vacuous
+adoration.
+
+Kerry paused for a moment, staring at the pair. The man returned his
+stare, looking him up and down in a manner meant to be contemptuous.
+Kerry’s fierce, intolerant gaze became transferred to the face and then
+the figure of the woman. He tilted his hat further forward and turned
+aside. The woman’s glance followed him, to the marked disgust of her
+companion.
+
+“Oh,” she whispered, “what a delightfully savage man! He looks
+positively uncivilized. I have no doubt he drags women about by their
+hair. I _do_ hope he’s a member!”
+
+Mollie Gretna spoke loudly enough for Kerry to hear her, but unmoved by
+her admiration he stepped up to the reception office. He was in high
+good humor. He had spent the afternoon agreeably, interviewing certain
+officials charged with policing the East End of London, and had
+succeeded, to quote his own language, “in getting a gale up.” Despite
+the coldness of the weather, he had left two inspectors and a
+speechlessly indignant superintendent bathed in perspiration.
+
+“Are you a member, sir?” inquired the girl behind the desk.
+
+Kerry smiled genially. A newsboy thrust open the swing-door, yelling:
+“Bond Street murder! A fresh _de_velopment. Late speshul!”
+
+“Oh!” cried Mollie Gretna to her companion, “get me a paper. Be quick!
+I am so excited!”
+
+Kerry took up a pen, and in large bold hand-writing inscribed the
+following across two pages of the visitors’ book:
+
+“Chief Inspector Kerry. Criminal Investigation Department.”
+
+
+He laid a card on the open book, and, thrusting his cane under his arm,
+walked to the head of the stairs.
+
+“Cloak-room on the right, sir,” said an attendant.
+
+Kerry paused, glancing over his shoulder and chewing audibly. Then he
+settled his hat more firmly upon his red head and descended the stairs.
+The attendant went to inspect the visitors’ book, but Mollie Gretna was
+at the desk before him, and:
+
+“Oh, Bill!” she cried to her annoyed cavalier, “it’s Inspector
+Kerry—who is in charge of poor Lucy’s murder! Oh, Bill! this is lovely!
+Something is going to happen! Do come down!”
+
+Followed by the obedient but reluctant “Bill,” Mollie ran downstairs,
+and almost into the arms of a tall dark girl, who, carrying a purple
+opera cloak, was coming up.
+
+“You’re not going yet, Dickey?” said Mollie, throwing her arm around
+the other’s waist.
+
+“Ssh!” whispered “Dickey.” “Inspector Kerry is here! You don’t want to
+be called as a witness at nasty inquests and things, do you?”
+
+“Good heavens, my dear, no! But why should I be?”
+
+“Why should any of us? But don’t you see they are looking for the
+people who used to go to Kazmah’s? It’s in the paper tonight. We shall
+all be served with _subpoenas_. I’m off!”
+
+Escaping from Mollie’s embrace, the tall girl ran up the stairs,
+kissing her hand to Bill as she passed. Mollie hesitated, looking all
+about the crowded room for Chief Inspector Kerry. Presently she saw
+him, standing nearly opposite the stairway, his intolerant blue eyes
+turning right and left, so that the fierce glance seemed to miss
+nothing and no one in the room. Hands thrust in his overcoat pockets
+and his cane held under his arm, he inspected the place and its
+occupants as a very aggressive country cousin might inspect the
+monkey-house at the Zoo. To Mollie’s intense disappointment he
+persistently avoided looking in her direction.
+
+Although a popular dance was on the point of commencing, several
+visitors had suddenly determined to leave. Kerry pretended to be
+ignorant of the sensation which his appearance had created, passing
+slowly along the room and submitting group after group to deliberate
+scrutiny; but as news flies through an Eastern bazaar the name of the
+celebrated detective, whose association with London’s latest crime was
+mentioned by every evening paper in the kingdom, sped now on magic
+wings, so that there was a muted _charivari_ out of which, in every key
+from bass to soprano, arose ever and anon the words “Chief Inspector
+Kerry.”
+
+“It’s perfectly ridiculous but characteristically English,” drawled one
+young man, standing beside Mollie Gretna, “to send out a bally
+red-headed policeman in preposterous glad-rags to look for a clever
+criminal. Kerry is well known to all the crooks, and nobody could
+mistake him. Damn silly—damn silly!”
+
+As “damn silly” Kerry’s open scrutiny of the members and visitors must
+have appeared to others, but it was a deliberate policy very popular
+with the Chief Inspector, and termed by him “beating.” Possessed of an
+undisguisable personality, Kerry had found a way of employing his
+natural physical peculiarities to his professional advantage. Where
+other investigators worked in the dark, secretly, Red Kerry sought the
+limelight—at the right time. That every hour lost in getting on the
+track of the mysterious Kazmah was a point gained by the equally
+mysterious man from Whitehall he felt assured, and although the
+elaborate but hidden mechanism of New Scotland Yard was at work seeking
+out the patrons of the Bond Street drug-shop, Kerry was indisposed to
+await the result.
+
+He had been in the night club only about ten minutes, but during those
+ten minutes fully a dozen people had more or less hurriedly departed.
+Because of the arrangements already made by Sergeant Coombes, the
+addresses of many of these departing visitors would be in Kerry’s
+possession ere the night was much older. And why should they have fled,
+incontinent, if not for the reason that they feared to become involved
+in the Kazmah affair? All the cabmen had been warned, and those
+fugitives who had private cars would be followed.
+
+It was a curious scene which Kerry surveyed, a scene to have interested
+philosopher and politician alike. For here were representatives of
+every stratum of society, although some of those standing for the lower
+strata were suitably disguised. The peerage was well represented, so
+was Judah; there were women entitled to wear coronets dancing with men
+entitled to wear the broad arrow, and men whose forefathers had signed
+Magna Charta dancing with chorus girls from the revues and musical
+comedies.
+
+Waiting until the dance was fully in progress, Inspector Kerry walked
+slowly around the room in the direction of the stair. Parties seated at
+tables were treated each to an intolerant stare, alcoves were
+inspected, and more than one waiter meeting the gaze of the steely
+eyes, felt a prickling of conscience and recalled past peccadilloes.
+
+Bill had claimed Mollie Gretna for the dance, but:
+
+“No, Bill,” she had replied, watching Kerry as if enthralled; “I don’t
+want to dance. I am watching Chief Inspector Kerry.”
+
+“That’s evident,” complained the young man. “Perhaps you would like to
+spend the rest of the night in Bow Street?”
+
+“Oh,” whispered Mollie, “I should love it! I have never been arrested,
+but if ever I am I hope it will be by Chief Inspector Kerry. I am
+positive he would haul me away in handcuffs!”
+
+When Kerry came to the foot of the stairs, Mollie quite deliberately
+got in his way, murmured an apology, and gave him a sidelong gaze
+through lowered lashes, which was more eloquent than any thesis. He
+smiled with fierce geniality, looked her up and down, and proceeded to
+mount the stairs, with never a backward glance.
+
+His genius for criminal investigation possessed definite limitations.
+He could not perhaps have been expected in tactics so completely
+opposed to those which he had anticipated to recognize the presence of
+a valuable witness. Student of human nature though undoubtedly he was,
+he had not solved the mystery of that outstanding exception which seems
+to be involved in every rule.
+
+Thus, a fellow with a low forehead and a weakly receding chin, Kerry
+classified as a dullard, a witling, unaware that if the brow were but
+low enough and the chin virtually absent altogether he might stand in
+the presence of a second Daniel. Physiognomy is a subtle science, and
+the exceptions to its rules are often of a sensational character. In
+the same way Kerry looked for evasion, and, where possible, flight, on
+the part of one possessing a guilty conscience. Mollie Gretna was a
+phenomenal exception to a rule otherwise sound. And even one familiar
+with criminal psychology might be forgiven for failing to detect guilt
+in a woman anxious to make the acquaintance of a prominent member of
+the Criminal Investigation Department.
+
+Pausing for a moment in the entrance of the club, and chewing
+reflectively, Kerry swung open the door and walked out into the street.
+He had one more cover to “beat,” and he set off briskly, plunging into
+the mazes of Soho crossing Wardour Street into old Compton Street, and
+proceeding thence in the direction of Shaftesbury Avenue. Turning to
+the right on entering the narrow thoroughfare for which he was bound,
+he stopped and whistled softly. He stood in the entrance to a court;
+and from further up the court came an answering whistle.
+
+Kerry came out of the court again, and proceeded some twenty paces
+along the street to a restaurant. The windows showed no light, but the
+door remained open, and Kerry entered without hesitation, crossed a
+darkened room and found himself in a passage where a man was seated in
+a little apartment like that of a stage-door keeper. He stood up, on
+hearing Kerry’s tread, peering out at the newcomer.
+
+“The restaurant is closed, sir.”
+
+“Tell me a better one,” rapped Kerry. “I want to go upstairs.”
+
+“Your card, sir.”
+
+Kerry revealed his teeth in a savage smile and tossed his card on to
+the desk before the concierge. He passed on, mounting the stairs at the
+end of the passage. Dimly a bell rang; and on the first landing Kerry
+met a heavily built foreign gentleman, who bowed.
+
+“My dear Chief Inspector,” he said gutturally, “what is this, please? I
+trust nothing is wrong, eh?”
+
+“Nothing,” replied Kerry. “I just want to look round.”
+
+“A few friends,” explained the suave alien, rubbing his hands together
+and still bowing, “remain playing dominoes with me.”
+
+“Very good,” rapped Kerry. “Well, if you think we have given them time
+to hide the ‘wheel’ we’ll go in. Oh, don’t explain. I’m not worrying
+about sticklebacks tonight. I’m out for salmon.”
+
+He opened a door on the left of the landing and entered a large room
+which offered evidence of having been hastily evacuated by a
+considerable company. A red and white figured cloth of a type much used
+in Continental cafés had been spread upon a long table, and three
+foreigners, two men and an elderly woman, were bending over a row of
+dominoes set upon one corner of the table. Apparently the men were
+playing and the woman was watching. But there was a dense cloud of
+cigar smoke in the room, and mingled with its pungency were sweeter
+scents. A number of empty champagne bottles stood upon a sideboard and
+an elegant silk theatre-bag lay on a chair.
+
+“H’m,” said Kerry, glaring fiercely from the bottles to the players,
+who covertly were watching him. “How you two smarts can tell a domino
+from a door-knocker after cracking a dozen magnums gets me guessing.”
+
+He took up the scented bag and gravely handed it to the old woman.
+
+“You have mislaid your bag, madam,” he said. “But, fortunately, I
+noticed it as I came in.”
+
+He turned the glance of his fierce eyes upon the man who had met him on
+the landing, and who had followed him into the room.
+
+“Third floor, von Hindenburg,” he rapped. “Don’t argue. Lead the way.”
+
+For one dangerous moment the man’s brow lowered and his heavy face grew
+blackly menacing. He exchanged a swift look with his friends seated at
+the disguised roulette table. Kerry’s jaw muscles protruded enormously.
+
+“Give me another answer like that,” he said in a tone of cold ferocity,
+“and I’ll kick you from here to Paradise.”
+
+“No offense—no offense,” muttered the man, quailing before the savagery
+of the formidable Chief Inspector. “You come this way, please. Some
+ladies call upon me this evening, and I do not want to frighten them.”
+
+“No,” said Kerry, “you wouldn’t, naturally.” He stood aside as a door
+at the further end of the room was opened. “After you, my friend. I
+said ‘lead the way.’”
+
+They mounted to the third floor of the restaurant. The room which they
+had just quitted was used as an auxiliary dining and supper-room before
+midnight, as Kerry knew. After midnight the centre table was unmasked,
+and from thence onward to dawn, sometimes, was surrounded by roulette
+players. The third floor he had never visited, but he had a shrewd idea
+that it was not entirely reserved for the private use of the
+proprietor.
+
+A babel of voices died away as the two men walked into a room rather
+smaller than that below and furnished with little tables, café fashion.
+At one end was a grand piano and a platform before which a velvet
+curtain was draped. Some twenty people, men and women, were in the
+place, standing looking towards the entrance. Most of the men and all
+the women but one were in evening dress; but despite this common armor
+of respectability, they did not all belong to respectable society.
+
+Two of the women Kerry recognized as bearers of titles, and one was
+familiar to him as a screen-beauty. The others were unclassifiable, but
+all were fashionably dressed with the exception of a masculine-looking
+lady who had apparently come straight off a golf course, and who later
+was proved to be a well-known advocate of woman’s rights. The men all
+belonged to familiar types. Some of them were Jews.
+
+Kerry, his feet widely apart and his hands thrust in his overcoat
+pockets, stood staring at face after face and chewing slowly. The
+proprietor glanced apologetically at his patrons and shrugged. Silence
+fell upon the company. Then:
+
+“I am a police officer,” said Kerry sharply. “You will file out past
+me, and I want a card from each of you. Those who have no cards will
+write name and address here.”
+
+He drew a long envelope and a pencil from a pocket of his dinner
+jacket. Laying the envelope and pencil on one of the little tables:
+
+“Quick march!” he snapped. “You, sir!” shooting out his forefinger in
+the direction of a tall, fair young man, “step out!”
+
+Glancing helplessly about him, the young man obeyed, and approaching
+Kerry:
+
+“I say, officer,” he whispered nervously, “can’t you manage to keep my
+name out of it? I mean to say, my people will kick up the deuce.
+Anything up to a tenner....”
+
+The whisper faded away. Kerry’s expression had grown positively
+ferocious.
+
+“Put your card on the table,” he said tersely, “and get out while my
+hands stay in my pockets!”
+
+Hurriedly the noble youth (he was the elder son of an earl) complied,
+and departed. Then, one by one, the rest of the company filed past the
+Chief Inspector. He challenged no one until a Jew smilingly laid a card
+on the table bearing the legend: “Mr. John Jones, Lincoln’s Inn
+Fields.”
+
+“Hi!” rapped Kerry, grasping the man’s arm. “One moment, Mr. ‘Jones’!
+The card I want is in the other case. D’you take me for a mug? That
+‘Jones’ trick was tried on Noah by the blue-faced baboon!”
+
+His perception of character was wonderful. At some of the cards he did
+not even glance; and upon the women he wasted no time at all. He took
+it for granted that they would all give false names, but since each of
+them would be followed it did not matter. When at last the room was
+emptied, he turned to the scowling proprietor, and:
+
+“That’s that!” he said. “I’ve had no instructions about your
+establishment, my friend, and as I’ve seen nothing improper going on
+I’m making no charge, at the moment. I don’t want to know what sort of
+show takes place on your platform, and I don’t want to know anything
+about you that I don’t know already. You’re a Swiss subject and a dark
+horse.”
+
+He gathered up the cards from the table, glancing at them carelessly.
+He did not expect to gain much from his possession of these names and
+addresses. It was among the women that he counted upon finding patrons
+of Kazmah and Company. But as he was about to drop the cards into his
+overcoat pocket, one of them, which bore a written note, attracted his
+attention.
+
+At this card he stared like a man amazed; his face grew more and more
+red, and:
+
+“Hell!” he said—“Hell! which of ’em was it?”
+
+The card contained the following:—
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI.
+THE MOODS OF MOLLIE
+
+
+Early the following morning Margaret Halley called upon Mollie Gretna.
+
+Mollie’s personality did not attract Margaret. The two had nothing in
+common, but Margaret was well aware of the nature of the tie which had
+bound Rita Irvin to this empty and decadent representative of English
+aristocracy. Mollie Gretna was entitled to append the words “The
+Honorable” to her name, but not only did she refrain from doing so but
+she even preferred to be known as “Gretna”—the style of one of the
+family estates.
+
+This pseudonym she had adopted shortly after her divorce, when she had
+attempted to take up a stage career. But although the experience had
+proved disastrous, she had retained the _nom de guerre_, and during the
+past four years had several times appeared at war charity
+garden-parties as a classical dancer—to the great delight of the guests
+and greater disgust of her family. Her maternal uncle, head of her
+house, said to be the most blasé member of the British peerage and
+known as “the noble tortoise,” was generally considered to have
+pronounced the final verdict upon his golden-haired niece when he
+declared “she is almost amusing.”
+
+Mollie received her visitor with extravagant expressions of welcome.
+
+“My dear Miss Halley,” she cried, “how perfectly sweet of you to come
+to see me! of course, I can guess what you have called about. Look! I
+have every paper published this morning in London! Every one! Oh! poor,
+darling little Rita! What _can_ have become of her!”
+
+Tears glistened upon her carefully made-up lashes, and so deep did her
+grief seem to be that one would never have suspected that she had spent
+the greater part of the night playing bridge at a “mixed” club in Dover
+Street, and from thence had proceeded to a military “breakfast-dance.”
+
+“It is indeed a ghastly tragedy,” said Margaret. “It seems incredible
+that she cannot be traced.”
+
+“Absolutely incredible!” declared Mollie, opening a large box of
+cigarettes. “Will you have one, dear?”
+
+“No, thanks. By the way, they are not from Buenos Ayres, I suppose?”
+
+Mollie, cigarette in hand, stared, round-eyed, and:
+
+“Oh, my dear Miss Halley!” she cried, “what an idea! Such a funny thing
+to suggest.”
+
+Margaret smiled coolly.
+
+“Poor Sir Lucien used to smoke cigarettes of that kind,” she explained,
+“and I thought perhaps you smoked them, too.”
+
+Mollie shook her head and lighted the cigarette.
+
+“He gave me one once, and it made me feel quite sick,” she declared.
+
+Margaret glanced at the speaker, and knew immediately that Mollie had
+determined to deny all knowledge of the drug coterie. Because there is
+no problem of psychology harder than that offered by a perverted mind,
+Margaret was misled in ascribing this secrecy to a desire to avoid
+becoming involved in a scandal. Therefore:
+
+“Do you quite realize, Miss Gretna,” she said quietly, “that every hour
+wasted now in tracing Rita may mean, must mean, an hour of agony for
+her?”
+
+“Oh, don’t! please don’t!” cried Mollie, clasping her hands. “I cannot
+bear to think of it.”
+
+“God knows in whose hands she is. Then there is poor Mr. Irvin. He is
+utterly prostrated. One shudders to contemplate his torture as the
+hours and the days go by and no news comes of Rita.”
+
+“Oh, my dear! you are making me cry!” exclaimed Mollie. “If only I
+could do something to help....”
+
+Margaret was studying her closely, and now for the first time she
+detected sincere emotion in Mollie’s voice—and unforced tears in her
+eyes. Hope was reborn.
+
+“Perhaps you can,” she continued, speaking gently. “You knew all Rita’s
+friends and all Sir Lucien’s. You must have met the woman called Mrs.
+Sin?”
+
+“Mrs. Sin,” whispered Mollie, staring in a frightened way so that the
+pupils of her eyes slowly enlarged. “What about Mrs. Sin?”
+
+“Well, you see, they seem to think that through Mrs. Sin they will be
+able to trace Kazmah; and wherever Kazmah is one would expect to find
+poor Rita.”
+
+Mollie lowered her head for a moment, then glanced quickly at the
+speaker, and quickly away again.
+
+“Please let me explain just what I mean,” continued Margaret. “It seems
+to be impossible to find anybody in London who will admit having known
+Mrs. Sin or Kazmah. They are all afraid of being involved in the case,
+of course. Now, if you can help, don’t hesitate for that reason. A
+special commission has been appointed by Lord Wrexborough to deal with
+the case, and their agent is working quite independently of the police.
+Anything which you care to tell him will be treated as strictly
+confidential; but think what it may mean to Rita.”
+
+Mollie clasped her hands about her right knee and rocked to and fro in
+her chair.
+
+“No one knows who Kazmah is,” she said.
+
+“But a number of people seem to know Mrs. Sin. I am sure you must have
+met her?”
+
+“If I say that I know her, shall I be called as a witness?”
+
+“Certainly not. I can assure you of that.”
+
+Mollie continued to rock to and fro.
+
+“But if I were to tell the police I should have to go to court, I
+suppose?”
+
+“I suppose so,” replied Margaret. “I am afraid I am dreadfully ignorant
+of such matters. It might depend upon whether you spoke to a high
+official or to a subordinate one; an ordinary policeman for instance.
+But the Home office agent has nothing whatever to do with Scotland
+Yard.”
+
+Mollie stood up in order to reach an ash-tray, and:
+
+“I really don’t think I have anything to say, Miss Halley,” she
+declared. “I have certainly met Mrs. Sin, but I know nothing whatever
+about her, except that I believe she is a Jewess.”
+
+Margaret sighed, looking up wistfully into Mollie’s face. “Are you
+quite sure?” she pleaded. “Oh, Miss Gretna, if you know
+anything—anything—don’t hide it now. It may mean so much.”
+
+“Oh, I quite understand that,” cried Mollie. “My heart simply aches and
+aches when I think of poor, sweet little Rita. But—really I don’t think
+I can be of the least tiny bit of use.”
+
+Their glances met, and Margaret read hostility in the shallow eyes.
+Mollie, who had been wavering, now for some reason had become confirmed
+in her original determination to remain silent. Margaret stood up.
+
+“It is no good, then,” she said. “We must hope that Rita will be traced
+by the police. Good-bye, Miss Gretna. I am so sorry you cannot help.”
+
+“And so am I!” declared Mollie. “It is perfectly sweet of you to take
+such an interest, and I feel a positive _worm_. But what can I do?”
+
+As Margaret was stepping into her little runabout car, which awaited
+her at the door, a theory presented itself to account for Mollie’s
+sudden hostility. It had developed, apparently, as a result of
+Margaret’s reference to the Home office inquiry. Of course! Mollie
+would naturally be antagonistic to a commission appointed to suppress
+the drug traffic.
+
+Convinced that this was the correct explanation, Margaret drove away,
+reflecting bitterly that she had been guilty of a strategical error
+which it was now too late to rectify.
+
+In common with others, Kerry among them, who had come in contact with
+that perverted intelligence, she misjudged Mollie’s motives. In the
+first place, the latter had no wish to avoid publicity, and in the
+second place—although she sometimes wondered vaguely what she should do
+when her stock of drugs became exhausted—Mollie was prompted by no
+particular animosity toward the Home office inquiry. She had merely
+perceived a suitable opportunity to make the acquaintance of the fierce
+red Chief Inspector, and at the same time to secure notoriety for
+herself.
+
+Ere Margaret’s car had progressed a hundred yards from the door, Mollie
+was at the telephone.
+
+“City 400, please,” she said.
+
+An interval elapsed, then:
+
+“Is that the Commissioner’s office, New Scotland Yard?” she asked.
+
+A voice replied that it was.
+
+“Could you put me through to Chief Inspector Kerry?”
+
+“What name?” inquired the voice.
+
+Mollie hesitated for three seconds, and then gave her family name.
+
+“Very well, madam,” said the voice respectfully. “Please hold on, and I
+will enquire if the Chief Inspector is here.”
+
+Mollie’s heart was beating rapidly with pleasurable excitement, and she
+was as confused as a maiden at her first rendezvous. Then:
+
+“Hello,” said the voice.
+
+“Yes?”
+
+“I am sorry, madam. But Chief Inspector Kerry is off duty.”
+
+“Oh, dear!” sighed Mollie, “what a pity. Can you tell me where I could
+find him?”
+
+“I am afraid not, madam. It is against the rules to give private
+addresses of members of any department.”
+
+“Oh, very well.” She sighed again. “Thank you.”
+
+She replaced the receiver and stood biting her finger thoughtfully. She
+was making a mental inventory of her many admirers and wondering which
+of them could help her. Suddenly she came to a decision on the point.
+Taking up the receiver:
+
+“Victoria 8440, please,” she said.
+
+Still biting one finger she waited, until:
+
+“Foreign office,” announced a voice.
+
+“Please put me through to Mr. Archie Boden-Shaw,” she said.
+
+Ere long that official’s secretary was inquiring her name, and a moment
+later:
+
+“Is that you, Archie?” said Mollie. “Yes! Mollie speaking. No, please
+listen, Archie! You can get to know everything at the Foreign office,
+and I want you to find out for me the private address of Chief
+Inspector Kerry, who is in charge of the Bond Street murder case. Don’t
+be silly! I’ve asked Scotland Yard, but they won’t tell me. _You_ can
+find out.... It doesn’t matter why I want to know.... Just ring me up
+and tell me. I _must_ know in half an hour. Yes, I shall be seeing you
+tonight. Good-bye....”
+
+Less than half an hour later, the obedient Archie rang up, and Mollie,
+all excitement, wrote the following address in a dainty scented
+notebook which she carried in her handbag.
+
+CHIEF INSPECTOR KERRY,
+67 Spenser Road, Brixton.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII.
+CROWN EVIDENCE
+
+
+The appearance of the violet-enamelled motor brougham upholstered in
+cream, and driven by a chauffeur in a violet and cream livery, created
+some slight sensation in Spenser Road, S.E. Mollie Gretna’s conspicuous
+car was familiar enough to residents in the West End of London, but to
+lower middle-class suburbia it came as something of a shock. More than
+one window curtain moved suspiciously, suggesting a hidden but watchful
+presence, when the glittering vehicle stopped before the gate of number
+67; and the lady at number 68 seized an evidently rare opportunity to
+come out and polish her letter-box.
+
+She was rewarded by an unobstructed view of the smartest woman in
+London (thus spake society paragraphers) and of the most expensive set
+of furs in Europe, also of a perfectly gowned slim figure. Of Mollie’s
+disdainful face, with its slightly uptilted nose, she had no more than
+a glimpse.
+
+A neat maid, evidently Scotch, admitted the dazzling visitor to number
+67; and Spenser Road waited and wondered. It was something to do with
+the Bond Street murder! Small girls appeared from doorways suddenly
+opened and darted off to advise less-watchful neighbors.
+
+Kerry, who had been at work until close upon dawn in the mysterious
+underworld of Soho was sleeping, but Mrs. Kerry received Mollie in a
+formal little drawing-room, which, unlike the cosy, homely dining-room,
+possessed that frigid atmosphere which belongs to uninhabited
+apartments. In a rather handsome cabinet were a number of trophies
+associated with the detective’s successful cases. The cabinet itself
+was a present from a Regent Street firm for whom Kerry had recovered
+valuable property.
+
+Mary Kerry, dressed in a plain blouse and skirt, exhibited no trace of
+nervousness in the presence of her aristocratic and fashionable caller.
+Indeed, Mollie afterwards declared that “she was quite a ladylike
+person. But rather tin tabernacley, my dear.”
+
+“Did ye wish to see Chief Inspector Kerry parteecularly?” asked Mary,
+watching her visitor with calm, observant eyes.
+
+“Oh, most particularly!” cried Mollie, in a flutter of excitement. “Of
+course I don’t know _what_ you must think of me for calling at such a
+preposterous hour, but there are some things that simply can’t wait.”
+
+“Aye,” murmured Mrs. Kerry. “’Twill be yon Bond Street affair?”
+
+“Oh, yes, it is, Mrs. Kerry. Doesn’t the very name of Bond Street turn
+your blood cold? I am simply shivering with fear!”
+
+“As the wife of a Chief Inspector I am maybe more used to tragedies
+than yoursel’, madam. But it surely is a sair grim business. My husband
+is resting now. He was hard at work a’ the night. Nae doubt ye’ll be
+wishin’ tee see him privately?”
+
+“Oh, if you please. I am so sorry to disturb him. I can imagine that he
+must be literally exhausted after spending a whole night among dreadful
+people.”
+
+Mary Kerry stood up.
+
+“If ye’ll excuse me for a moment I’ll awaken him,” she said. “Our
+household is sma’.”
+
+“Oh, of course! I quite understand, Mrs. Kerry! So sorry. But so good
+of you.”
+
+“Might I offer ye a glass o’ sherry an’ a biscuit?”
+
+“I simply couldn’t _dream_ of troubling you! Please don’t suggest such
+a thing. I feel covered with guilt already. Many thanks nevertheless.”
+
+Mary Kerry withdrew, leaving Mollie alone. As soon as the door closed
+Mollie stood up and began to inspect the trophies in the cabinet. She
+was far too restless and excited to remain sitting down. She looked at
+the presentation clock on the mantelpiece and puzzled over the
+signatures engraved upon a large silver dish which commemorated the joy
+displayed by the Criminal Investigation Department upon the occasion of
+Kerry’s promotion to the post of Chief Inspector.
+
+The door opened and Kerry came in. He had arisen and completed his
+toilet in several seconds less than five minutes. But his spotlessly
+neat attire would have survived inspection by the most lynx-eyed
+martinet in the Brigade of Guards. As he smiled at his visitor with
+fierce geniality, Mollie blushed like a young girl.
+
+Chief Inspector Kerry was a much bigger man than she had believed him
+to be. The impression left upon her memory by his brief appearance at
+the night club had been that of a small, dapper figure. Now, as he
+stood in the little drawing-room, she saw that he was not much if
+anything below the average height of Englishmen, and that he possessed
+wonderfully broad shoulders. In fact, Kerry was deceptive. His compact
+neatness and the smallness of his feet and hands, together with those
+swift, lithe movements which commonly belong to men of light physique,
+curiously combined to deceive the beholder, but masked eleven stones
+(*note: 1 stone = 14 pounds) of bone and muscle.
+
+“Very good of you to offer information, miss,” he said. “I’m willing to
+admit that I can do with it.”
+
+He opened a bureau and took out a writing-block and a fountain pen.
+Then he turned and stared hard at Mollie. She quickly lowered her eyes.
+
+“Excuse me,” said Kerry, “but didn’t I see you somewhere last night?”
+
+“Yes,” she said. “I was sitting just inside the door at—”
+
+“Right! I remember,” interrupted Kerry. He continued to stare. “Before
+you say any more, miss, I have to remind you that I am a police
+officer, and that you may be called upon to swear to the truth of any
+information you may give me.”
+
+“Oh, of course! I know.”
+
+“You know? Very well, then; we can get on. Who gave you my address?”
+
+At the question, so abruptly asked, Mollie felt herself blushing again.
+It was delightful to know that she could still blush. “Oh—I... that is,
+I asked Scotland Yard ”
+
+She bestowed a swift, half-veiled glance at her interrogator, but he
+offered her no help, and:
+
+“They wouldn’t tell me,” she continued. “So—I had to find out. You see,
+I heard you were trying to get information which I thought perhaps I
+could give.”
+
+“So you went to the trouble to find my private address rather than to
+the nearest police station,” said Kerry. “Might I ask you from whom you
+heard that I wanted this information?”
+
+“Well—it’s in the papers, isn’t it?”
+
+“It is certainly. But it occurred to me that someone... connected might
+have told you as well.”
+
+“Actually, someone did: Miss Margaret Halley.”
+
+“Good!” rapped Kerry. “Now we’re coming to it. She told you to come to
+me?”
+
+“Oh, no!” cried Mollie—“she didn’t. She told me to tell her so that she
+could tell the Home office.”
+
+“Eh?” said Kerry, “eh?” He bent forward, staring fiercely. “Please tell
+me exactly what Miss Halley wanted to know.”
+
+The intensity of his gaze Mollie found very perturbing, but:
+
+“She wanted me to tell her where Mrs. Sin lived,” she replied.
+
+Kerry experienced a quickening of the pulse. In the failure of the
+C.I.D. to trace the abode of the notorious Mrs. Sin he had suspected
+double-dealing. He counted it unbelievable that a figure so conspicuous
+in certain circles could evade official quest even for forty-eight
+hours. K Division’s explanation, too, that there were no less than
+eighty Chinamen resident in and about Limehouse whose names either
+began or ended with Sin, he looked upon as a paltry evasion. That very
+morning he had awakened from a species of nightmare wherein 719 had
+affected the arrest of Kazmah and Mrs. Sin and had rescued Mrs. Irvin
+from the clutches of the former. Now—here was hope. 719 would seem to
+be as hopelessly in the dark as everybody else.
+
+“You refused?” he rapped.
+
+“Of course I did, Inspector,” said Mollie, with a timid, tender glance.
+“I thought you were the proper person to tell.”
+
+“Then you know?” asked Kerry, unable to conceal his eagerness.
+
+“Yes,” sighed Mollie. “Unfortunately—I know. Oh Inspector, how can I
+explain it to you?”
+
+“Don’t trouble, miss. Just give me the address and I’ll ask no
+questions!”
+
+His keenness was thrilling, infectious. As a result of the night’s
+“beating” he had a list of some twenty names whose owners might have
+been patrons of Kazmah and some of whom might know Mrs. Sin. But he had
+learned from bitter experience how difficult it was to induce such
+people to give useful evidence. There was practically no means of
+forcing them to speak if they chose, from selfish motives, to be
+silent. They could be forced to appear in court, but anything elicited
+in public was worse than useless. Furthermore, Kerry could not afford
+to wait. Mollie replied excitedly:
+
+“Oh, Inspector, I know you will think me simply an appalling person
+when I tell you; but I have been to Mrs. Sin’s house—‘The House of a
+Hundred Raptures’ she calls it—”
+
+“Yes, yes! But—the address?”
+
+“However can I tell you the address, Inspector? I could drive you
+there, but I haven’t the very haziest idea of the name of the horrible
+street! One drives along dreadful roads where there are stalls and Jews
+for quite an interminable time, and then over a sort of canal, and then
+round to the right all among ships and horrid Chinamen. Then, there is
+a doorway in a little court, and Mrs. Sin’s husband sits inside a
+smelly room with a positively ferocious raven who shrieks about legs
+and policemen! Oh! Can I ever forget it!”
+
+“One moment, miss, one moment,” said Kerry, keeping an iron control
+upon himself. “What is the name of Mrs. Sin’s husband?”
+
+“Oh, let me think! I can always remember it by recalling the croak of
+the raven.” She raised one hand to her brow, posing reflectively, and
+began to murmur:
+
+“Sin Sin Ah... Sin Sin Jar... Sin Sin—Oh! I have it! Sin Sin _Wa!_”
+
+“Good!” rapped Kerry, and made a note on the block. “Sin Sin _Wa_, and
+he has a pet raven, you say, who talks?”
+
+“Who positively talks like some horrid old woman!” cried Mollie. “He
+has only one eye.”
+
+“The raven?”
+
+“The raven, yes—and also the Chinaman.”
+
+“What!”
+
+“Oh! it’s a nightmare to behold them together!” declared Mollie,
+clasping her hands and bending forward.
+
+She was gaining courage, and now looked almost boldly into the fierce
+eyes of the Chief Inspector.
+
+“Describe the house,” he said succinctly. “Take your time and use your
+own words.”
+
+Thereupon Mollie launched into a description of Sin Sin Wa’s
+opium-house. Kerry, his eyes fixed upon her face, listened silently.
+Then:
+
+“These little rooms are really next door?” he asked.
+
+“I suppose so, Inspector. We always went through the back of a
+cupboard!”
+
+“Can you give me names of others who used this place?”
+
+“Well”—Mollie hesitated—“poor Rita, of course and Sir Lucien. Then,
+Cyrus Kilfane used to go.”
+
+“Kilfane? The American actor?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“H’m. He’s back in America, Sir Lucien is dead, and Mrs. Irvin is
+missing. Nobody else?”
+
+Mollie shook her head.
+
+“Who first took you there?”
+
+“Cyrus Kilfane.”
+
+“Not Sir Lucien?”
+
+“Oh, no. But both of them had been before.”
+
+“What was Kazmah’s connection with Mrs. Sin and her husband?”
+
+“I have no idea, Inspector. Kazmah used to supply cocaine and veronal
+and trional and heroin, but those who wanted to smoke opium he sent to
+Mrs. Sin.”
+
+“What! he gave them her address?”
+
+“No, no! He gave her _their_ address.”
+
+“I see. She called?”
+
+“Yes. Oh, Inspector”—Mollie bent farther forward—“I can see in your
+eyes that you think I am fabulously wicked! Shall I be arrested?”
+
+Kerry coughed drily and stood up.
+
+“Probably not, miss. But you may be required to give evidence.”
+
+“Oh, actually?” cried Mollie, also standing up and approaching nearer.
+
+“Yes. Shall you object?”
+
+Mollie looked into his eyes.
+
+“Not if I can be of the slightest assistance to _you_, Inspector.”
+
+A theory to explain why this social butterfly had sought him out as a
+recipient of her compromising confidences presented itself to Kerry’s
+mind. He was a modest man, having neither time nor inclination for
+gallantries, and this was the first occasion throughout his
+professional career upon which he had obtained valuable evidence on the
+strength of his personal attractions. He doubted the accuracy of his
+deduction. But, Mollie at that moment lowering her lashes and then
+rapidly raising them again, Kerry was compelled to accept his own
+astonishing theory.
+
+“And she is the daughter of a peer!” he reflected. “No wonder it has
+been hard to get evidence.”
+
+He glanced rapidly in the direction of the door. There were several
+details which were by no means clear, but he decided to act upon the
+information already given and to get rid of his visitor without delay.
+Where some of the most dangerous criminals in Europe and America had
+failed, Mollie Gretna had succeeded in making Red Kerry nervous.
+
+“I am much indebted to you, miss,” he said, and opened the door.
+
+“Oh, it has been delightful to confess to you, Inspector!” declared
+Mollie. “I will give you my card, and I shall expect you to come to me
+for any further information you may want. If I have to be brought to
+court, _you_ will tell me, won’t you?”
+
+“Rely upon me, miss,” replied Kerry shortly.
+
+He escorted Mollie to her brougham, observed by no less than six
+discreetly hidden neighbors. And as the brougham was driven off she
+waved her hand to him! Kerry felt a hot flush spreading over his red
+countenance, for the veiled onlookers had not escaped his attention. As
+he re-entered the house:
+
+“Yon’s a bad woman,” said his wife, emerging from the dining-room.
+
+“I believe you may be right, Mary,” replied Kerry confusedly.
+
+“I kenned it when fairst I set een upon her painted face. I kenned it
+the now when she lookit sideways at ye. If yon’s a grand lady, she’s a
+woman o’ puir repute. The Lord gi’e us grace.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII.
+THE GILDED JOSS
+
+
+London was fog-bound. The threat of the past week had been no empty
+one. Towards the hour of each wintry sunset had come the yellow racks,
+hastening dusk and driving folks more speedily homeward to their
+firesides. The dull reports of fog-signals had become a part of the
+metropolitan bombilation, but hitherto the choking mist had not secured
+a strangle-hold.
+
+Now, however, it had triumphed, casting its thick net over the city as
+if eager to stifle the pulsing life of the new Babylon. In the
+neighborhood of the Docks its density was extraordinary, and the
+purlieus of Limehouse became mere mysterious gullies of smoke
+impossible to navigate unless one were very familiar with their
+intricacies and dangers.
+
+Chief Inspector Kerry, wearing a cardigan under his oilskins, tapped
+the pavement with the point of his malacca like a blind man. No glimmer
+of light could he perceive. He could not even see his companion.
+
+“Hell!” he snapped irritably, as his foot touched a brick wall, “where
+the devil are you, constable?”
+
+“Here beside you, sir,” answered P.C. Bryce, of K Division, his guide.
+
+“Which side?”
+
+“Here, sir.”
+
+The constable grasped Kerry’s arm.
+
+“But we’ve walked slap into a damn brick wall!”
+
+“Keep the wall on your left, sir, and it’s all clear ahead.”
+
+“Clear be damned!” said Kerry. “Are we nearly there?”
+
+“About a dozen paces and we shall see the lamp—if it’s been lighted.”
+
+“And if not we shall stroll into the river, I suppose?”
+
+“No danger of that. Even if the lamp’s out, we shall strike the iron
+pillar.”
+
+“I don’t doubt it,” said Kerry grimly.
+
+They proceeded at a slow pace. Dull reports and a vague clangor were
+audible. These sounds were so deadened by the clammy mist that they
+might have proceeded from some gnome’s workshop deep in the bowels of
+the earth. The blows of a pile-driver at work on the Surrey shore
+suggested to Kerry’s mind the phantom crew of Hendrick Hudson at their
+game of ninepins in the Katskill Mountains. Suddenly:
+
+“Is that you, Bryce?” he asked.
+
+“I’m here, sir,” replied the voice of the constable from beside him.
+
+“H’m, then there’s someone else about.” He raised his voice. “Hi,
+there! have you lost your way?”
+
+Kerry stood still, listening. But no one answered to his call.
+
+“I’ll swear there was someone just behind us, Bryce!”
+
+“There was, sir. I saw someone, too. A Chinese resident, probably. Here
+we are!”
+
+A sound of banging became audible, and on advancing another two paces,
+Kerry found himself beside Bryce before a low closed door.
+
+“Hello! hello!” croaked a dim voice. “Number one p’lice chop, lo! Sin
+Sin Wa!”
+
+The flat note of a police whistle followed.
+
+“Sin Sin is at home,” declared Bryce. “That’s the raven.”
+
+“Does he take the thing about with him, then?”
+
+“I don’t think so. But he puts it in a cupboard when he goes out, and
+it never talks unless it can see a light.”
+
+Bolts were unfastened and the door was opened. Out through the moving
+curtain of fog shone the red glow from a stove. A grotesque silhouette
+appeared outlined upon the dim redness.
+
+“You wantchee me?” crooned Sin Sin Wa.
+
+“I do!” rapped Kerry. “I’ve called to look for opium.”
+
+He stepped past the Chinaman into the dimly lighted room. As he did so,
+the cause of an apparent deformity which had characterized the outline
+of Sin Sin Wa became apparent. From his left shoulder the raven partly
+arose, moving his big wings, and:
+
+“Smartest leg!” it shrieked in Kerry’s ear and rattled imaginary
+castanets.
+
+The Chief Inspector started, involuntarily.
+
+“Damn the thing!” he muttered. “Come in, Bryce, and shut the door.
+What’s this?”
+
+On a tea-chest set beside the glowing stove, the little door of which
+was open, stood a highly polished squat wooden image, gilded and
+colored red and green. It was that of a leering Chinaman, possibly
+designed to represent Buddha, and its jade eyes seemed to blink
+knowingly in the dancing rays from the stove.
+
+“Sin Sin Wa’s Joss,” murmured the proprietor, as Bryce closed the outer
+door. “Me shinee him up; makee Joss glad. Number one piecee Joss.”
+
+Kerry turned and stared into the pock-marked smiling face. Seen in that
+dim light it was not unlike the carved face of the image, save that the
+latter possessed two open eyes and the Chinaman but one. The details of
+the room were indiscernible, lost in yellowish shadow, but the eye of
+the raven and the eye of Sin Sin Wa glittered like strange jewels.
+
+“H’m,” said Kerry. “Sorry to interrupt your devotions. Light us.”
+
+“Allee velly proper,” crooned Sin Sin Wa.
+
+He took up the Joss tenderly and bore it across the room. Opening a
+little cupboard set low down near the floor he discovered a lighted
+lantern. This he took out and set upon the dirty table. Then he placed
+the image on a shelf in the cupboard and turned smilingly to his
+visitors.
+
+“Number one p’lice!” shrieked the raven.
+
+“Here!” snapped Kerry. “Put that damn thing to bed!”
+
+“Velly good,” murmured Sin Sin Wa complacently.
+
+He raised his hand to his shoulder and the raven stepped sedately from
+shoulder to wrist. Sin Sin Wa stooped.
+
+“Come, Tling-a-Ling,” he said softly. “You catchee sleepee.”
+
+The raven stepped down from his wrist and walked into the cupboard.
+
+“So fashion, lo!” said Sin Sin Wa, closing the door.
+
+He seated himself upon a tea-chest beside the useful cupboard, resting
+his hands upon his knees and smiling.
+
+Kerry, chewing steadily, had watched the proceedings in silence, but
+now:
+
+“Constable Bryce,” he said crisply, “you recognize this man as Sin Sin
+Wa, the occupier of the house?”
+
+“Yes, sir,” replied Bryce.
+
+He was not wholly at ease, and persistently avoided the Chinaman’s
+oblique, beady eye.
+
+“In the ordinary course of your duty you frequently pass along this
+street?”
+
+“It’s the limit of the Limehouse beat, sir. Poplar patrols on the other
+side.”
+
+“So that at this point, or hereabout, you would sometimes meet the
+constable on the next beat?”
+
+“Well, sir,” Bryce hesitated, clearing his throat, “this street isn’t
+properly in his district.”
+
+“I didn’t say it was!” snapped Kerry, glaring fiercely at the
+embarrassed constable. “I said you would sometimes meet him here.”
+
+“Yes, sometimes.”
+
+“Sometimes. Right. Did you ever come in here?”
+
+The constable ventured a swift glance at the savage red face, and:
+
+“Yes, sir, now and then,” he confessed. “Just for a warm on a cold
+night, maybe.”
+
+“Allee velly welcome,” murmured Sin Sin Wa.
+
+Kerry never for a moment removed his fixed gaze from the face of Bryce.
+
+“Now, my lad,” he said, “I’m going to ask you another question. I’m not
+saying a word about the warm on a cold night. We’re all human. But—did
+you ever see or hear or smell anything suspicious in this house?”
+
+“Never,” affirmed the constable earnestly.
+
+“Did anything ever take place that suggested to your mind that Sin Sin
+Wa might be concealing something—upstairs, for instance?”
+
+“Never a thing, sir. There’s never been a complaint about him.”
+
+“Allee velly proper,” crooned Sin Sin Wa.
+
+Kerry stared intently for some moments at Bryce; then, turning suddenly
+to Sin Sin Wa:
+
+“I want to see your wife,” he said. “Fetch her.”
+
+Sin Sin Wa gently patted his knees.
+
+“She velly bad woman,” he declared. “She no hate topside pidgin.”
+
+“Don’t talk!” shouted Kerry. “Fetch her!”
+
+Sin Sin Wa turned his hands palms upward.
+
+“Me no hate gotchee wifee,” he murmured.
+
+Kerry took one pace forward.
+
+“Fetch her,” he said; “or—” He drew a pair of handcuffs from the pocket
+of his oilskin.
+
+“Velly bad luck,” murmured Sin Sin Wa. “Catchee trouble for wifee no
+got.”
+
+He extended his wrists, meeting the angry glare of the Chief Inspector
+with a smile of resignation. Kerry bit savagely at his chewing-gum,
+glancing aside at Bryce.
+
+“Did you ever see his wife?” he snapped.
+
+“No, sir. I didn’t know he had one.”
+
+“No habgotchee,” murmured Sin Sin Wa, “velly bad woman.”
+
+“For the last time,” said Kerry, stooping and thrusting his face
+forward so that his nose was only some six inches from that of Sin Sin
+Wa, “where’s Mrs. Sin?”
+
+“Catchee lun off,” replied the Chinaman blandly. “Velly bad woman.
+Tlief woman. Catchee stealee alla my dollars!”
+
+“Eh!”
+
+Kerry stood upright, moving his shoulders and rattling the handcuffs.
+
+“Comee here when Sin Sin Wa hate gone for catchee shavee, liftee alla
+my dollars, and—_pff! chee_-lo!”
+
+He raised his hand and blew imaginary fluff into space. Kerry stared
+down at him with an expression in which animal ferocity and
+helplessness were oddly blended. Then:
+
+“Bryce,” he said, “stay here. I’m going to search the house.”
+
+“Very good, sir.”
+
+Kerry turned again to the Chinaman.
+
+“Is there anyone upstairs?” he demanded.
+
+“Nobody hate. Sin Sin Wa alla samee lonesome. Catchee shinum him joss.”
+
+Kerry dropped the handcuffs back into the pocket of his overall and
+took out an electric torch. With never another glance at Sin Sin Wa he
+went out into the passage and began to mount the stairs, presently
+finding himself in a room filled with all sorts of unsavory rubbish and
+containing a large cupboard. He uttered an exclamation of triumph.
+
+Crossing the littered floor, and picking his way amid broken cane
+chairs, tea-chests, discarded garments and bedlaths, he threw open the
+cupboard door. Before him hung a row of ragged clothes and a number of
+bowler hats. Directing the ray of the torch upon the unsavory
+collection, he snatched coats and hats from the hooks upon which they
+depended and hurled them impatiently upon the floor.
+
+When the cupboard was empty he stepped into it and began to bang upon
+the back. The savagery of his expression grew more marked than usual,
+and as he chewed his maxillary muscles protruded extraordinarily.
+
+“If ever I sounded a brick wall,” he muttered, “I’m doing it now.”
+
+Tap where he would—and he tapped with his knuckles and with the bone
+ferrule of his cane—there was nothing in the resulting sound to suggest
+that that part of the wall behind the cupboard was less solid than any
+other part.
+
+He examined the room rapidly, then passed into another one adjoining
+it, which was evidently used as a bedroom. The latter faced towards the
+court and did not come in contact with the wall of the neighboring
+house. In both rooms the windows were fastened, and judging from the
+state of the fasteners were never opened. In that containing the
+cupboard outside shutters were also closed. Despite this sealing-up of
+the apartments, traces of fog hung in the air. Kerry descended the
+stairs.
+
+Snapping off the light of his torch, he stood, feet wide apart, staring
+at Sin Sin Wa. The latter, smiling imperturbably, yellow hands resting
+upon knees, sat quite still on the tea-chest. Constable Bryce was
+seated on a corner of the table, looking curiously awkward in his tweed
+overcoat and bowler hat, which garments quite failed to disguise the
+policeman. He stood up as Kerry entered. Then:
+
+“There used to be a door between this house and the next,” said Kerry
+succinctly. “My information is exact and given by someone who has often
+used that door.”
+
+“Bloody liar,” murmured Sin Sin Wa.
+
+“What!” shouted Kerry. “What did you say, you yellow-faced mongrel!”
+
+He clenched his fists and strode towards the Chinaman.
+
+“Sarcee feller catchee pullee leg,” explained the unmoved Sin Sin Wa.
+“Velly bad man tellee lie for makee bhoberry—getchee poor Chinaman in
+tlouble.”
+
+In the fog-bound silence Kerry could very distinctly be heard chewing.
+He turned suddenly to Bryce.
+
+“Go back and fetch two men,” he directed. “I should never find my way.”
+
+“Very good, sir.”
+
+Bryce stepped to the door, unable to hide the relief which he
+experienced, and opened it. The fog was so dense that it looked like a
+yellow curtain hung in the opening.
+
+“Phew!” said Bryce. “I may be some little time, sir.”
+
+“Quite likely. But don’t stop to pick daisies.”
+
+The constable went out, closing the door. Kerry laid his cane on the
+table, then stooped and tossed a cud of chewing-gum into the stove.
+From his waistcoat pocket he drew out a fresh piece and placed it
+between his teeth. Drawing a tea-chest closer to the stove, he seated
+himself and stared intently into the glowing heart of the fire.
+
+Sin Sin Wa extended his arm and opened the little cupboard.
+
+“Number one p’lice,” croaked the raven drowsily.
+
+“You catchee sleepee, Tling-a-Ling,” said Sin Sin Wa.
+
+He took out the green-eyed joss, set it tenderly upon a corner of the
+table, and closed the cupboard door. With a piece of chamois leather,
+which he sometimes dipped into a little square tin, he began to polish
+the hideous figure.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX.
+DOUBTS AND FEARS
+
+
+Monte Irvin raised his head and stared dully at Margaret Halley. It was
+very quiet in the library of the big old-fashioned house at Prince’s
+Gate. A faint crackling sound which proceeded from the fire was clearly
+audible. Margaret’s grey eyes were anxiously watching the man whose
+pose as he sat in the deep, saddle-back chair so curiously suggested
+collapse.
+
+“Drugs,” he whispered. “Drugs.”
+
+Few of his City associates would have recognized the voice; all would
+have been shocked to see the change which had taken place in the man.
+
+“You really understand why I have told you, Mr. Irvin, don’t you?” said
+Margaret almost pleadingly. “Dr. Burton thought you should not be told,
+but then Dr. Burton did not know you were going to ask me point blank.
+And _I_ thought it better that you should know the truth, bad as it is,
+rather than—”
+
+“Rather than suspect—worse things,” whispered Irvin. “Of course, you
+were right, Miss Halley. I am very, very grateful to you for telling
+me. I realize what courage it must have called for. Believe me, I shall
+always remember—”
+
+He broke off, staring across the room at his wife’s portrait. Then:
+
+“If only I had known,” he added.
+
+Irvin exhibited greater composure than Margaret had ventured to
+anticipate. She was confirmed in her opinion that he should be told the
+truth.
+
+“I would have told you long ago,” she said, “if I had thought that any
+good could result from my doing so. Frankly, I had hoped to cure Rita
+of the habit, and I believe I might have succeeded in time.”
+
+“There has been no mention of drugs in connection with the case,” said
+Monte Irvin, speaking monotonously. “In the Press, I mean.”
+
+“Hitherto there has not,” she replied. “But there is a hint of it in
+one of this evening’s papers, and I determined to give you the exact
+facts so far as they are known to me before some garbled account came
+to your ears.”
+
+“Thank you,” he said, “thank you. I had felt for a long time that I was
+getting out of touch with Rita, that she had other confidants. Have you
+any idea who they were, Miss Halley?”
+
+He raised his eyes, looking at her pathetically. Margaret hesitated,
+then:
+
+“Well,” she replied, “I am afraid Nina knew.”
+
+“Her maid?”
+
+“I think she must have known.”
+
+He sighed.
+
+“The police have interrogated her,” he said. “Probably she is being
+watched.”
+
+“Oh, I don’t think she knows anything about the drug syndicate,”
+declared Margaret. “She merely acted as confidential messenger. Poor
+Sir Lucien Pyne, I am sure, was addicted to drugs.”
+
+“Do you think”—Irvin spoke in a very low voice—“do you think he led her
+into the habit?”
+
+Margaret bit her lip, staring down at the red carpet.
+
+“I would hate to slander a man who can never defend himself,” she
+replied finally. “But—I have sometimes thought he did.”
+
+Silence fell. Both were contemplating a theory which neither dared to
+express in words.
+
+“You see,” continued Margaret, “it is evident that this man Kazmah was
+patronized by people so highly placed that it is hopeless to look for
+information from them. Again, such people have influence. I don’t
+suggest that they are using it to protect Kazmah, but I have no doubt
+they are doing so to protect themselves.”
+
+Monte Irvin raised his eyes to her face. A weary, sad look had come
+into them.
+
+“You mean that it may be to somebody’s interest to hush up the matter
+as much as possible?”
+
+Margaret nodded her head.
+
+“The prevalence of the drug habit in society—especially in London
+society—is a secret which has remained hidden so long from the general
+public,” she replied, “that one cannot help looking for bribery and
+corruption. The stage is made the scapegoat whenever the voice of
+scandal breathes the word ‘dope,’ but we rarely hear the names of the
+worst offenders even whispered. I have thought for a long time that the
+authorities must know the names of the receivers and distributors of
+cocaine, veronal, opium, and the other drugs, huge quantities of which
+find their way regularly to the West End of London. Pharmacists
+sometimes experience the greatest difficulty in obtaining the drugs
+which they legitimately require, and the prices have increased
+extraordinarily. Cocaine, for instance, has gone up from five and
+sixpence an ounce to eighty-seven shillings, and heroin from three and
+sixpence to over forty shillings, while opium that was once about
+twenty shillings a pound is now eight times the price.”
+
+Monte Irvin listened attentively.
+
+“In the course of my Guildhall duties,” he said slowly, “I have been
+brought in contact frequently with police officers of all ranks. If
+influential people are really at work protecting these villains who
+deal illicitly in drugs, I don’t think, and I am not prepared to
+believe, that they have corrupted the police.”
+
+“Neither do I believe so, Mr. Irvin!” said Margaret eagerly.
+
+“But,” Irvin pursued, exhibiting greater animation, “you inform me that
+a Home office commissioner has been appointed. What does this mean, if
+not that Lord Wrexborough distrusts the police?”
+
+“Well, you see, the police seemed to be unable, or unwilling, to do
+anything in the matter. Of course, this may have been due to the fact
+that the traffic was so skilfully handled that it defied their
+inquiries.”
+
+“Take, as an instance, Chief Inspector Kerry,” continued Irvin. “He has
+exhibited the utmost delicacy and consideration in his dealings with
+me, but I’ll swear that a whiter man never breathed.”
+
+“Oh, really, Mr. Irvin, I don’t think for a moment that men of that
+class are suspected of being concerned. Indeed, I don’t believe any
+active collusion is suspected at all.”
+
+“Lord Wrexborough thinks that Scotland Yard hasn’t got an officer
+clever enough for the dope people?”
+
+“Quite possibly.”
+
+“I take it that he has put up a secret service man?”
+
+“I believe—that is, I know he has.”
+
+Monte Irvin was watching Margaret’s face, and despite the dull misery
+which deadened his usually quick perceptions, he detected a heightened
+color and a faint change of expression. He did not question her further
+upon the point, but:
+
+“God knows I welcome all the help that offers,” he said. “Lord
+Wrexborough is your uncle, Miss Halley; but do you think this secret
+commission business quite fair to Scotland Yard?”
+
+Margaret stared for some moments at the carpet, then raised her grey
+eyes and looked earnestly at the speaker. She had learned in the brief
+time that had elapsed since this black sorrow had come upon him to
+understand what it was in the character of Monte Irvin which had
+attracted Rita. It afforded an illustration of that obscure law
+governing the magnetism which subsists between diverse natures. For not
+all the agony of mind which he suffered could hide or mar the cleanness
+and honesty of purpose which were Monte Irvin’s outstanding qualities.
+
+“No,” Margaret replied, “honestly, I don’t. And I feel rather guilty
+about it, too, because I have been urging uncle to take such a step for
+quite a long time. You see”—she glanced at Irvin wistfully—“I am
+brought in contact with so many victims of the drug habit. I believe
+the police are hampered; and these people who deal in drugs manage in
+some way to evade the law. The Home office agent will report to a
+committee appointed by Lord Wrexborough, and then, you see, if it is
+found necessary to do so, there will be special legislation.”
+
+Monte Irvin sighed wearily, and his glance strayed in the direction of
+the telephone on the side-table. He seemed to be constantly listening
+for something which he expected but dreaded to hear. Whenever the toy
+spaniel which lay curled up on the rug before the fire moved or looked
+towards the door, Irvin started and his expression changed.
+
+“This suspense,” he said jerkily, “this suspense is so hard to bear.”
+
+“Oh, Mr. Irvin, your courage is wonderful,” replied Margaret earnestly.
+“But he”—she hastily corrected herself—“everybody is convinced that
+Rita is safe. Under some strange misapprehension regarding this awful
+tragedy she has run away into hiding. Probably she has been induced to
+do so by those interested in preventing her from giving evidence.”
+
+Monte Irvin’s eyes lighted up strangely. “Is that the opinion of the
+Home office agent?” he asked.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Inspector Kerry shares it,” declared Irvin. “Please God they are
+right.”
+
+“It is the only possible explanation,” said Margaret. “Any hour now we
+may expect news of her.”
+
+“You don’t think,” pursued Monte Irvin, “that anybody—anybody—suspects
+Rita of being concerned in the death of Sir Lucien?”
+
+He fixed a gaze of pathetic inquiry upon her face.
+
+“Of course not!” she cried. “How ridiculous it would be.”
+
+“Yes,” he murmured, “it would be ridiculous.”
+
+Margaret stood up.
+
+“I am quite relieved now that I have done what I conceived to be my
+duty, Mr. Irvin,” she said. “And, bad as the truth may be, it is better
+than doubt, after all. You must look after yourself, you know. When
+Rita comes back we shall have a big task before us to wean her from her
+old habits.” She met his glance frankly. “But we shall succeed.”
+
+“How you cheer me,” whispered Monte Irvin emotionally. “You are the
+truest friend that Rita ever had, Miss Halley. You will keep in touch
+with me, will you not?”
+
+“Of course. Next to yourself there is no one so sincerely interested as
+I am. I love Rita as I should have loved a sister if I had had one.
+Please don’t stand up. Dr. Burton has told you to avoid all exertion
+for a week or more, I know.”
+
+Monte Irvin grasped her outstretched hand.
+
+“Any news which reaches me,” he said, “I will communicate immediately.
+Thank you. In times of trouble we learn to know our real friends.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX.
+THE FIGHT IN THE DARK
+
+
+Towards eleven o’clock at night the fog began slightly to lift. As
+Kerry crossed the bridge over Limehouse Canal he could vaguely discern
+the dirty water below, and street lamps showed dimly, surrounded each
+by a halo of yellow mist. Fog signals were booming on the railway, and
+from the great docks in the neighborhood mechanical clashings and
+hammerings were audible.
+
+Turning to the right, Kerry walked on for some distance, and then
+suddenly stepped into the entrance to a narrow cul-de-sac and stood
+quite still.
+
+A conviction had been growing upon him during the past twelve hours
+that someone was persistently and cleverly dogging his footsteps. He
+had first detected the presence of this mysterious follower outside the
+house of Sin Sin Wa, but the density of the fog had made it impossible
+for him to obtain a glimpse of the man’s face. He was convinced, too,
+that he had been followed back to Leman Street, and from there to New
+Scotland Yard. Now, again he became aware of this persistent presence,
+and hoped at last to confront the spy.
+
+Below footsteps, the footsteps of someone proceeding with the utmost
+caution, came along the pavement. Kerry stood close to the wall of the
+court, one hand in a pocket of his overall, waiting and chewing.
+
+Nearer came the footsteps—and nearer. A shadowy figure appeared only a
+yard or so away from the watchful Chief Inspector. Thereupon he acted.
+
+With one surprising spring he hurled himself upon the unprepared man,
+grasped him by his coat collar, and shone the light of an electric
+torch fully into his face.
+
+“Hell!” he snapped. “The smart from Spinker’s!”
+
+The ray of the torch lighted up the mean, pinched face of Brisley,
+blanched now by fright, gleamed upon the sharp, hooked nose and into
+the cunning little brown eyes. Brisley licked his lips. In Kerry’s
+muscular grip he bore quite a remarkable resemblance to a rat in the
+jaws of a terrier.
+
+“Ho, ho!” continued the Chief Inspector, showing his teeth savagely.
+“So we let Scotland Yard make the pie, and then we steal all the plums,
+do we?”
+
+He shook the frightened man until Brisley’s broad-brimmed bowler was
+shaken off, revealing the receding brow and scanty neutral-colored
+hair.
+
+“We let Scotland Yard work night and day, and then we present our
+rat-faced selves to Mr. Monte Irvin and say we have ‘found the lady’ do
+we?” Another vigorous shake followed. “We track Chief Inspectors of the
+Criminal Investigation Department, do we? We do, eh? We are dirty,
+skulking mongrels, aren’t we? We require to be kicked from Limehouse to
+Paradise, don’t we?” He suddenly released Brisley. “So we shall be!” he
+shouted furiously.
+
+Hot upon the promise came the deed.
+
+Brisley sent up a howl of pain as Kerry’s right brogue came into
+violent contact with his person. The assault almost lifted him off his
+feet, and hatless as he was he set off, running as a man runs whose
+life depends upon his speed. The sound of his pattering footsteps was
+echoed from wall to wall of the cul-de-sac until finally it was
+swallowed up in the fog.
+
+Kerry stood listening for some moments, then, directing a furious kick
+upon the bowler which lay at his feet, he snapped off the light of the
+torch and pursued his way. The lesser mystery was solved, but the
+greater was before him.
+
+He had made a careful study of the geography of the neighborhood, and
+although the fog was still dense enough to be confusing, he found his
+way without much difficulty to the street for which he was bound. Some
+fifteen paces along the narrow thoroughfare he came upon someone
+standing by a closed door set in a high brick wall. The street
+contained no dwelling houses, and except for the solitary figure by the
+door was deserted and silent. Kerry took out his torch and shone a
+white ring upon the smiling countenance of Detective-Sergeant Coombes.
+
+“If that smile gets any worse,” he said irritably, “they’ll have to
+move your ears back. Anything to report?”
+
+“Sin Sin Wa went to bed an hour ago.”
+
+“Any visitors?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Has he been out?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Got the ladder?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“All quiet in the neighborhood?”
+
+“All quiet.”
+
+“Good.”
+
+The street in which this conversation took place was one running
+roughly parallel with that in which the house of Sin Sin Wa was
+situated. A detailed search of the Chinaman’s premises had failed to
+bring to light any scrap of evidence to show that opium had ever been
+smoked there. Of the door described by Mollie Gretna, and said to
+communicate with the adjoining establishment, not a trace could be
+found. But the fact that such a door had existed did not rest solely
+upon Mollie’s testimony. From one of the “beat-ups” interviewed that
+day, Kerry had succeeded in extracting confirmatory evidence.
+
+Inquiries conducted in the neighborhood of Poplar had brought to light
+the fact that four of the houses in this particular street, including
+that occupied by Sin Sin Wa and that adjoining it, belonged to a
+certain Mr. Jacobs, said to reside abroad. Mr. Jacob’s rents were
+collected by an estate agent, and sent to an address in San Francisco.
+For some reason not evident to this man of business, Mr. Jacobs
+demanded a rental for the house next to Sin Sin Wa’s, which was out of
+all proportion to the value of the property. Hence it had remained
+vacant for a number of years. The windows were broken and boarded up,
+as was the door.
+
+Kerry realized that the circumstance of the landlord of “The House of a
+Hundred Raptures” being named Jacobs, and the lessee of the Cubanis
+Cigarette Company’s premises in old Bond Street being named Isaacs,
+might be no more than a coincidence. Nevertheless it was odd. He had
+determined to explore the place without unduly advertising his
+intentions.
+
+Two modes of entrance presented themselves. There was a trap on the
+roof, but in order to reach it access would have to be obtained to one
+of the other houses in the row, which also possessed a roof-trap; or
+there were four windows overlooking a little back yard, two upstairs
+and two down.
+
+By means of a short ladder which Coombes had brought for the purpose
+Kerry climbed on to the wall and dropped into the yard.
+
+“The jemmy!” he said softly.
+
+Coombes, also mounting, dropped the required implement. Kerry caught it
+deftly, and in a very few minutes had wrenched away the rough planking
+nailed over one of the lower windows, without making very much noise.
+
+“Shall I come down?” inquired Coombes in muffled tones from the top of
+the wall.
+
+“No,” rapped Kerry. “Hide the ladder again. If I want help I’ll
+whistle. Catch!”
+
+He tossed the jemmy up to Coombes, and Coombes succeeded in catching
+it. Then Kerry raised the glass-less sash of the window and stepped
+into a little room, which he surveyed by the light of his electric
+torch. It was filthy and littered with rubbish, but showed no sign of
+having been occupied for a long time. The ceiling was nearly black, and
+so were the walls. He went out into a narrow passage similar to that in
+the house of Sin Sin Wa and leading to a stair.
+
+Walking quietly, he began to ascend. Mollie Gretna’s description of the
+opium-house had been most detailed and lurid, and he was prepared for
+some extravagant scene.
+
+He found three bare, dirty rooms, having all the windows boarded up.
+
+“Hell!” he said succinctly.
+
+Resting his torch upon a dust-coated ledge of the room, which
+presumably was situated in the front of the house, he deposited a cud
+of chewing-gum in the empty grate and lovingly selected a fresh piece
+from the packet which he always carried. Once more chewing he returned
+to the narrow passage, which he knew must be that in which the secret
+doorway had opened.
+
+It was uncarpeted and dirty, and the walls were covered with faded
+filthy paper, the original color and design of which were quite lost.
+There was not the slightest evidence that a door had ever existed in
+any part of the wall. Following a detailed examination Kerry returned
+his magnifying glass to the washleather bag and the bag to his
+waistcoat pocket.
+
+“H’m,” he said, thinking aloud, “Sin Sin Wa may have only one eye, but
+it’s a good eye.”
+
+He raised his glance to the blackened ceiling of the passage, and saw
+that the trap giving access to the roof was situated immediately above
+him. He directed the ray of the torch upon it. In the next moment he
+had snapped off the light and was creeping silently towards the door of
+the front room.
+
+The trap had moved slightly!
+
+Gaining the doorway, Kerry stood just inside the room and waited. He
+became conscious of a kind of joyous excitement, which claimed him at
+such moments; an eagerness and a lust of action. But he stood perfectly
+still, listening and waiting.
+
+There came a faint creaking sound, and a new damp chilliness was added
+to the stale atmosphere of the passage. Someone had quietly raised the
+trap.
+
+Cutting through the blackness like a scimitar shone a ray of light from
+above, widening as it descended and ending in a white patch on the
+floor. It was moved to and fro. Then it disappeared. Another vague
+creaking sound followed—that caused by a man’s weight being imposed
+upon a wooden framework.
+
+Finally came a thud on the bare boards of the floor.
+
+Complete silence ensued. Kerry waited, muscles tense and brain alert.
+He even suspended the chewing operation. A dull, padding sound reached
+his ears.
+
+From the quality of the thud which had told of the intruder’s drop from
+the trap to the floor, Kerry had deduced that he wore rubber-soled
+shoes. Now, the sound which he could hear was that of the stranger’s
+furtive footsteps. He was approaching the doorway in which Kerry was
+standing.
+
+Just behind the open door Kerry waited. And unheralded by any further
+sound to tell of his approach, the intruder suddenly shone a ray of
+light right into the room. He was on the threshold; only the door
+concealed him from Kerry, and concealed Kerry from the new-comer.
+
+The disc of light cast into the dirty room grew smaller. The man with
+the torch was entering. A hand which grasped a magazine pistol appeared
+beyond the edge of the door, and Kerry’s period of inactivity came to
+an end. Leaning back he adroitly kicked the weapon from the hand of the
+man who held it!
+
+There was a smothered cry of pain, and the pistol fell clattering on
+the floor. The light went out, too. As it vanished Kerry leapt from his
+hiding-place. Snapping on the light of his own pocket lamp, he ran out
+into the passage.
+
+_Crack!_ came the report of a pistol.
+
+Kerry dropped flat on the floor. He had not counted on the intruder
+being armed with _two_ pistols! His pocket lamp, still alight, fell
+beside him, and he lay in a curiously rigid attitude on his side, one
+knee drawn up and his arm thrown across his face.
+
+Carefully avoiding the path of light cast by the fallen torch, the
+unseen stranger approached silently. Pistol in hand, he bent, nearer
+and nearer, striving to see the face of the prostrate man. Kerry lay
+deathly still. The other dropped on one knee and bent closely over
+him....
+
+Swiftly as a lash Kerry’s arm was whipped around the man’s neck, and
+helpless he pitched over on to his head! Uttering a dull groan, he lay
+heavy and still across Kerry’s body.
+
+“Flames!” muttered the Chief Inspector, extricating himself; “I didn’t
+mean to break his neck.”
+
+He took up the electric torch, and shone it upon the face of the man on
+the floor. It was a dirty, unshaven face, unevenly tanned, as though
+the man had worn a beard until quite recently and had come from a hot
+climate. He was attired in a manner which suggested that he might be a
+ship’s fireman save that he wore canvas shoes having rubber soles.
+
+Kerry stood watching him for some moments. Then he groped behind him
+with one foot until he found the pistol, the second pistol which the
+man had dropped as he pitched on his skull. Kerry picked it up, and
+resting the electric torch upon the crown of his neat bowler hat—which
+lay upon the floor—he stooped, pistol in hand, and searched the pockets
+of the prostrate man, who had begun to breathe stertorously. In the
+breast pocket he found a leather wallet of good quality; and at this he
+stared, a curious expression coming into his fierce eyes. He opened it,
+and found Treasury notes, some official-looking papers, and a number of
+cards. Upon one of these cards be directed the light, and this is what
+he read:
+
+[Illustration]
+
+“God’s truth!” gasped Kerry. “It’s the man from Whitehall!”
+
+The stertorous breathing ceased, and a very dirty hand was thrust up to
+him.
+
+“I’m glad you spoke, Chief Inspector Kerry,” drawled a vaguely familiar
+voice. “I was just about to kick you in the back of the neck!”
+
+Kerry dropped the wallet and grasped the proffered hand. “719” stood
+up, smiling grimly. Footsteps were clattering on the stairs. Coombes
+had heard the shot.
+
+“Sir,” said Kerry, “if ever you need a testimonial to your efficiency
+at this game, my address is Sixty-seven Spenser Road, Brixton. We’ve
+met before.”
+
+“We have, Chief Inspector,” was the reply. “We met at Kazmah’s, and
+later at a certain gambling den in Soho.”
+
+The pseudo fireman dragged a big cigar-case from his hip-pocket.
+
+“I’m known as Seton Pasha. Can I offer you a cheroot?”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI.
+THE STORY OF 719
+
+
+In a top back room of the end house in the street which also boasted
+the residence of Sin Sin Wa, Seton Pasha and Chief Inspector Kerry sat
+one on either side of a dirty deal table. Seton smoked and Kerry
+chewed. A smoky oil-lamp burned upon the table, and two notebooks lay
+beside it.
+
+“It is certainly odd,” Seton was saying, “that you failed to break my
+neck. But I have made it a practice since taking up my residence here
+to wear a cap heavily padded. I apprehend sandbags and pieces of loaded
+tubing.”
+
+“The tube is not made,” declared Kerry, “which can do the job. You’re
+harder to kill than a Chinese-Jew.”
+
+“Your own escape is almost equally remarkable,” added Seton. “I rarely
+miss at such short range. But you had nearly broken my wrist with that
+kick.”
+
+“I’m sorry,” said Kerry. “You should always bang a door wide open
+suddenly before you enter into a suspected room. Anybody standing
+behind usually stops it with his head.”
+
+“I am indebted for the hint, Chief Inspector. We all have something to
+learn.”
+
+“Well, sir, we’ve laid our cards on the table, and you’ll admit we’ve
+both got a lot to learn before we see daylight. I’ll be obliged if
+you’ll put me wise to your game. I take it you began work on the very
+night of the murder?”
+
+“I did. By a pure accident—the finding of an opiated cigarette in Mr.
+Gray’s rooms—I perceived that the business which had led to my recall
+from the East was involved in the Bond Street mystery. Frankly, Chief
+Inspector, I doubted at that time if it were possible for you and me to
+work together. I decided to work alone. A beard which I had worn in the
+East, for purposes of disguise, I shaved off; and because the skin was
+whiter where the hair had grown than elsewhere, I found it necessary
+after shaving to powder my face heavily. This accounts for the
+description given to you of a man with a pale face. Even now the
+coloring is irregular, as you may notice.
+
+“Deciding to work anonymously, I went post haste to Lord Wrexhorough
+and made certain arrangements whereby I became known to the responsible
+authorities as 719. The explanation of these figures is a simple one.
+My name is Greville Seton. G is the seventh letter in the alphabet, and
+S the nineteenth; hence—‘seven-nineteen.’
+
+“The increase of the drug traffic and the failure of the police to cope
+with it had led to the institution of a Home office inquiry, you see.
+It was suspected that the traffic was in the hands of orientals, and in
+looking about for a confidential agent to make certain inquiries my
+name cropped up. I was at that time employed by the Foreign office, but
+Lord Wrexborough borrowed me.” Seton smiled at his own expression.
+“Every facility was offered to me, as you know. And that my
+investigations led me to the same conclusion as your own, my presence
+as lessee of this room, in the person of John Smiles, seaman,
+sufficiently demonstrates.”
+
+“H’m,” said Kerry, “and I take it your investigations have also led you
+to the conclusion that our hands are clean?”
+
+Seton Pasha fixed his cool regard upon the speaker.
+
+“Personally, I never doubted this, Chief Inspector,” he declared. “I
+believed, and I still believe, that the people who traffic in drugs are
+clever enough to keep in the good books of the local police. It is a
+case of clever _camouflage_, rather than corruption.”
+
+“Ah,” snapped Kerry. “I was waiting to hear you mention it. So long as
+we know. I’m not a man that stands for being pointed at. I’ve got a boy
+at a good public school, but if ever he said he was ashamed of his
+father, the day he said it would be a day he’d never forget!”
+
+Seton Pasha smiled grimly and changed the topic.
+
+“Let us see,” he said, “if we are any nearer to the heart of the
+mystery of Kazmah. You were at the Regent Street bank today, I
+understand, at which the late Sir Lucien Pyne had an account?”
+
+“I was,” replied Kerry. “Next to his theatrical enterprises his chief
+source of income seems to have been a certain Jose Santos Company, of
+Buenos Ayres. We’ve traced Kazmah’s account, too. But no one at the
+bank has ever seen him. The missing Rashîd always paid in. Checks were
+signed ‘Mohammed el-Kazmah,’ in which name the account had been opened.
+From the amount standing to his credit there it’s evident that the
+proceeds of the dope business went elsewhere.”
+
+“Where do you think they went?” asked Seton quietly, watching Kerry.
+
+“Well,” rapped Kerry, “I think the same as you. I’ve got two eyes and I
+can see out of both of them.”
+
+“And you think?”
+
+“I think they went to the Jose Santos Company, of Buenos Ayres!”
+
+“Right!” cried Seton. “I feel sure of it. We may never know how it was
+all arranged or who was concerned, but I am convinced that Mr. Isaacs,
+lessee of the Cubanis Cigarette Company offices, Mr. Jacobs (my
+landlord!), Mohammed el-Kazmah—whoever he may be—the untraceable Mrs.
+Sin Sin Wa, and another, were all shareholders of the Jose Santos
+company.”
+
+“I’m with you. By ‘another’ you mean?”
+
+“Sir Lucien! It’s horrible, but I’m afraid it’s true.”
+
+They became silent for a while. Kerry chewed and Seton smoked. Then:
+
+“The significance of the fact that Sir Lucien’s study window was no
+more than forty paces across the leads from a well-oiled window of the
+Cubanis Company will not have escaped you,” said Seton. “I performed
+the journey just ahead of you, I believe. Then Sir Lucien had lived in
+Buenos Ayres; that was before he came into the title, and at a time, I
+am told, when he was not overburdened with wealth. His man, Mareno, is
+indisputably some kind of a South American, and he can give no
+satisfactory account of his movements on the night of the murder.
+
+“That we have to deal with a powerful drug syndicate there can be no
+doubt. The late Sir Lucien may not have been a director, but I feel
+sure he was financially interested. Kazmah’s was the distributing
+office, and the importer—”
+
+“Was Sin Sin Wa!” cried Kerry, his eyes gleaming savagely. “He’s as
+clever and cunning as all the rest of Chinatown put together. Somewhere
+not a hundred miles from this spot where we are now there’s a store of
+stuff big enough to dope all Europe!”
+
+“And there’s something else,” said Seton quietly, knocking a cone of
+grey ash from his cheroot on to the dirty floor. “Kazmah is hiding
+there in all probability, if he hasn’t got clear away—and Mrs. Monte
+Irvin is being held a prisoner!”
+
+“If they haven’t—”
+
+“For Irvin’s sake I hope not, Chief Inspector. There are two very
+curious points in the case—apart from the mystery which surrounds the
+man Kazmah: the fact that Mareno, palpably an accomplice, stayed to
+face the music, and the fact that Sin Sin Wa likewise has made no
+effort to escape. Do you see what it means? They are covering the big
+man—Kazmah. Once he and Mrs. Irvin are out of the way, we can prove
+nothing against Mareno and Sin Sin Wa! And the most we could do for
+Mrs. Sin would be to convict her of selling opium.”
+
+“To do even that we should have to take a witness to court,” said Kerry
+gloomily; “and all the satisfaction we’d get would be to see her
+charged ten pounds!”
+
+Silence fell between them again. It was that kind of sympathetic
+silence which is only possible where harmony exists; and, indeed, of
+all the things strange and bizarre which characterized the inquiry,
+this sudden amity between Kerry and Seton Pasha was not the least
+remarkable. It represented the fruit of a mutual respect.
+
+There was something about the lean, unshaven face of Seton Pasha, and
+something, too, in his bright grey eyes which, allowing for difference
+of coloring, might have reminded a close observer of Kerry’s fierce
+countenance. The tokens of iron determination and utter indifference to
+danger were perceptible in both. And although Seton was dark and
+turning slightly grey, while Kerry was as red as a man well could be,
+that they possessed several common traits of character was a fact which
+the dissimilarity of their complexions wholly failed to conceal. But
+while Seton Pasha hid the grimness of his nature beneath a sort of
+humorous reserve, the dangerous side of Kerry was displayed in his open
+truculence.
+
+Seated there in that Limehouse attic, a smoky lamp burning on the table
+between them, and one gripping the stump of a cheroot between his
+teeth, while the other chewed steadily, they presented a combination
+which none but a fool would have lightly challenged.
+
+“Sin Sin Wa is cunning,” said Seton suddenly. “He is a very clever man.
+Watch him as closely as you like, he will never lead you to the
+‘store.’ In the character of John Smiles I had some conversation with
+him this morning, and I formed the same opinion as yourself. He is
+waiting for something; and he is certain of his ground. I have a
+premonition, Chief Inspector, that whoever else may fall into the net,
+Sin Sin Wa will slip out. We have one big chance.”
+
+“What’s that?” rapped Kerry.
+
+“The dope syndicate can only have got control of ‘the traffic’ in one
+way—by paying big prices and buying out competitors. If they cease to
+carry on for even a week they lose their control. The people who bring
+the stuff over from Japan, South America, India, Holland, and so forth
+will sell somewhere else if they can’t sell to Kazmah and Company.
+Therefore we want to watch the ships from likely ports, or, better
+still, get among the men who do the smuggling. There must be resorts
+along the riverside used by people of that class. We might pick up
+information there.”
+
+Kerry smiled savagely.
+
+“I’ve got half a dozen good men doing every dive from Wapping to
+Gravesend,” he answered. “But if you think it worth looking into
+personally, say the word.”
+
+“Well, my dear sir,”—Seton Pasha tossed the end of his cheroot into the
+empty grate—“what else can we do?”
+
+Kerry banged his fist on the table.
+
+“You’re right!” he snapped. “We’re stuck! But anything’s better than
+nothing. We’ll start here and now; and the first joint we’ll make for
+is Dougal’s.”
+
+“Dougal’s?” echoed Seton Pasha.
+
+“That’s it—Dougal’s. A danger spot on the Isle of Dogs used by the
+lowest type of sea-faring men and not barred to Arabs, Chinks, and
+other gaily-colored fowl. If there’s any chat going on about dope,
+we’ll hear it in Dougal’s.”
+
+Seton Pasha stood up, smiling grimly. “Dougal’s it shall be,” he said.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII.
+ON THE ISLE OF DOGS
+
+
+As the police boat left Limehouse Pier, a clammy south-easterly breeze
+blowing up-stream lifted the fog in clearly defined layers, an effect
+very singular to behold. At one moment a great arc-lamp burning above
+the Lavender Pond of the Surrey Commercial Dock shot out a yellowish
+light across the Thames. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the light
+vanished again as a stratum of mist floated before it.
+
+The creaking of the oars sounded muffled and ghostly, and none of the
+men in the boat seemed to be inclined to converse. Heading across
+stream they made for the unseen promontory of the Isle of Dogs.
+Navigation was suspended, and they reached midstream without seeing a
+ship’s light. Then came the damp wind again to lift the fog, and ahead
+of them they discerned one of the General Steam Navigation Company’s
+boats awaiting an opportunity to make her dock at the head of Deptford
+Creek. The clamor of an ironworks on the Millwall shore burst loudly
+upon their ears, and away astern the lights of the Surrey Dock shone
+out once more. Hugging the bank they pursued a southerly course, and
+from Limehouse Reach crept down to Greenwich Reach.
+
+Fog closed in upon them, a curtain obscuring both light and sound. When
+the breeze came again it had gathered force, and it drove the mist
+before it in wreathing banks, and brought to their ears a dull lowing
+and to their nostrils a farmyard odor from the cattle pens. Ghostly
+flames, leaping and falling, leaping and falling, showed where a
+gasworks lay on the Greenwich bank ahead.
+
+Eastward swept the river now, and fresher blew the breeze. As they
+rounded the blunt point of the “Isle” the fog banks went swirling past
+them astern, and the lights on either shore showed clearly ahead. A
+ship’s siren began to roar somewhere behind them. The steamer which
+they had passed was about to pursue her course.
+
+Closer in-shore drew the boat, passing a series of wharves, and beyond
+these a tract of waste, desolate bank very gloomy in the half light and
+apparently boasting no habitation of man. The activities of the
+Greenwich bank seemed remote, and the desolation of the Isle of Dogs
+very near, touching them intimately with its peculiar gloom.
+
+A light sprang into view some little distance inland, notable because
+it shone lonely in an expanse of utter blackness. Kerry broke the long
+silence.
+
+“Dougal’s,” he said. “Put us ashore here.”
+
+The police boat was pulled in under a rickety wooden structure, beneath
+which the Thames water whispered eerily; and Kerry and Seton
+disembarked, mounting a short flight of slimy wooden steps and crossing
+a roughly planked place on to a shingly slope. Climbing this, they were
+on damp waste ground, pathless and uninviting.
+
+“Dougal’s is being watched,” said Kerry. “I think I told you?”
+
+“Yes,” replied Seton. “But I have formed the opinion that the dope gang
+is too clever for the ordinary type of man. Sin Sin Wa is an instance
+of what I mean. Neither you nor I doubt that he is a receiver of
+drugs—perhaps _the_ receiver; but where is our case? The only real link
+connecting him with the West-End habitué is his wife. And she has
+conveniently deserted him! We cannot possibly prove that she hasn’t
+while he chooses to maintain that she has.”
+
+“H’m,” grunted Kerry, abruptly changing the subject. “I hope I’m not
+recognized here.”
+
+“Have you visited the place before?”
+
+“Some years ago. Unless there are any old hands on view tonight, I
+don’t think I shall be spotted.”
+
+He wore a heavy and threadbare overcoat, which was several sizes too
+large for him, a muffler, and a weed cap—the outfit supplied by Seton
+Pasha; and he had a very vivid and unpleasant recollection of his
+appearance as viewed in his little pocket-mirror before leaving Seton’s
+room. As they proceeded across the muddy wilderness towards the light
+which marked the site of Dougal’s, they presented a picture of a
+sufficiently villainous pair.
+
+The ground was irregular, and the path wound sinuously about mounds of
+rubbish; so that often the guiding light was lost, and they stumbled
+blindly among nondescript litter, which apparently represented the
+accumulation of centuries. But finally they turned a corner formed by a
+stack of rusty scrap iron, and found a long, low building before them.
+From a ground-floor window light streamed out upon the fragments of
+rubbish strewing the ground, from amid which sickly weeds uprose as if
+in defiance of nature’s laws. Seton paused, and:
+
+“What is Dougal’s exactly?” he asked; “a public house?”
+
+“No,” rapped Kerry. “It’s a coffee-shop used by the dockers. You’ll see
+when we get inside. The place never closes so far as I know, and if we
+made ’em close there would be a dock strike.”
+
+He crossed and pushed open the swing door. As Seton entered at his
+heels, a babel of coarse voices struck upon his ears and he found
+himself in a superheated atmosphere suggestive of shag, stale spirits,
+and imperfectly washed humanity.
+
+Dougal’s proved to be a kind of hut of wood and corrugated iron, not
+unlike an army canteen. There were two counters, one at either end, and
+two large American stoves. Oil lamps hung from the beams, and the
+furniture was made up of trestle tables, rough wooden chairs, and empty
+barrels. Coarse, thick curtains covered all the windows but one. The
+counter further from the entrance was laden with articles of food, such
+as pies, tins of bully-beef, and “saveloys,” while the other was
+devoted to liquid refreshment in the form of ginger-beer and cider (or
+so the casks were conspicuously labelled), tea, coffee, and cocoa.
+
+The place was uncomfortably crowded; the patrons congregating more
+especially around the two stoves. There were men who looked like dock
+laborers, seamen, and riverside loafers; lascars, Chinese, Arabs, and
+dagoes; and at the “solid” counter there presided a red-armed, brawny
+woman, fierce of mien and ready of tongue, while a huge Irishman,
+possessing a broken nose and deficient teeth, ruled the “liquid”
+department with a rod of iron and a flow of language which shocked even
+Kerry. This formidable ruffian, a retired warrior of the ring, was
+Dougal, said to be the strongest man from Tower Hill to the River Lea.
+
+As they entered, several of the patrons glanced at them curiously, but
+no one seemed to be particularly interested. Kerry wore his cap pulled
+well down over his fierce eyes, and had the collar of his topcoat
+turned up.
+
+He looked about him, as if expecting to recognize someone; and as they
+made their way to Dougal’s counter, a big fellow dressed in the manner
+of a dock laborer stepped up to the Chief Inspector and clapped him on
+the shoulder.
+
+“Have one with me, Mike,” he said, winking. “The coffee’s good.”
+
+Kerry bent towards him swiftly, and:
+
+“Anybody here, Jervis?” he whispered.
+
+“George Martin is at the bar. I’ve had the tip that he ‘traffics.’
+You’ll remember he figured in my last report, sir.”
+
+Kerry nodded, and the trio elbowed their way to the counter. The
+pseudo-dock hand was a detective attached to Leman Street, and one who
+knew the night birds of East End London as few men outside their own
+circles knew them.
+
+“Three coffees, Pat,” he cried, leaning across the shoulder of a heavy,
+red-headed fellow who lolled against the counter. “And two lumps of
+sugar in each.”
+
+“To hell wid yer sugar!” roared Dougal, grasping three cups deftly in
+one hairy hand and filling them from a steaming urn. “There’s no more
+sugar tonight.”
+
+“Not any _brown_ sugar?” asked the customer.
+
+“Yez can have one tayspoon of brown, and no more tonight,” cried
+Dougal.
+
+He stooped rapidly below the counter, then pushed the three cups of
+coffee towards the detective. The latter tossed a shilling down, at
+which Dougal glared ferociously.
+
+“’Twas wid sugar ye said!” he roared.
+
+A second shilling followed. Dougal swept both coins into a drawer and
+turned to another customer, who was also clamoring for coffee. Securing
+their cups with difficulty, for the red-headed man surlily refused to
+budge, they retired to a comparatively quiet spot, and Seton tasted the
+hot beverage.
+
+“H’m,” he said. “Rum! Good rum, too!”
+
+“It’s a nice position for me,” snapped Kerry. “I _don’t_ think I would
+remind you that there’s a police station actually on this blessed
+island. If there was a dive like Dougal’s anywhere West it would be
+raided as a matter of course. But to shut Dougal’s would be to raise
+hell. There are two laws in England, sir; one for Piccadilly and the
+other for the Isle of Dogs!” He sipped his coffee with appreciation.
+Jervis looked about him cautiously, and:
+
+“That’s George—the red-headed hooligan against the counter,” he said.
+“He’s been liquoring up pretty freely, and I shouldn’t be surprised to
+find that he’s got a job on tonight. He has a skiff beached below here,
+and I think he’s waiting for the tide.”
+
+“Good!” rapped Kerry. “Where can we find a boat?”
+
+“Well,” Jervis smiled. “There are several lying there if you didn’t
+come in an R.P. boat.”
+
+“We did. But I’ll dismiss it. We want a small boat.”
+
+“Very good, sir. We shall have to pinch one!”
+
+“That doesn’t matter,” declared Kerry glancing at Seton with a sudden
+twinkle discernible in his steely eyes. “What do you say, sir?”
+
+“I agree with you entirely,” replied Seton quietly. “We must find a
+boat, and lie off somewhere to watch for George. He should be worth
+following.”
+
+“We’ll be moving, then,” said the Leman Street detective. “It will be
+high tide in an hour.”
+
+They finished their coffee as quickly as possible; the stuff was not
+far below boiling-point. Then Jervis returned the cups to the counter.
+“Good night, Pat!” he cried, and rejoined Seton and Kerry.
+
+As they came out into the desolation of the scrap heaps, the last
+traces of fog had disappeared and a steady breeze came up the river,
+fresh and salty from the Nore. Jervis led them in a north-easterly
+direction, threading a way through pyramids of rubbish, until with the
+wind in their teeth they came out upon the river bank at a point where
+the shore shelved steeply downwards. A number of boats lay on the
+shingle.
+
+“We’re pretty well opposite Greenwich Marshes,” said Jervis. “You can
+just see one of the big gasometers. The end boat is George’s.”
+
+“Have you searched it?” rapped Kerry, placing a fresh piece of
+chewing-gum between his teeth.
+
+“I have, sir. Oh, he’s too wise for that!”
+
+“I propose,” said Seton briskly, “that we borrow one of the other boats
+and pull down stream to where that short pier juts out. We can hide
+behind it and watch for our man. I take it he’ll be bound up-stream,
+and the tide will help us to follow him quietly.”
+
+“Right,” said Kerry. “We’ll take the small dinghy. It’s big enough.”
+
+He turned to Jervis.
+
+“Nip across to the wooden stairs,” he directed, “and tell Inspector
+White to stand by, but to keep out of sight. If we’ve started before
+you return, go back and join him.”
+
+“Very good, sir.”
+
+Jervis turned and disappeared into the mazes of rubbish, as Seton and
+Kerry grasped the boat and ran it down into the rising tide. Kerry
+boarding, Seton thrust it out into the river and climbed in over the
+stern.
+
+“Phew! The current drags like a tow-boat!” said Kerry.
+
+They were being drawn rapidly up-stream. But as Kerry seized the oars
+and began to pull steadily, this progress was checked. He could make
+little actual headway, however.
+
+“The tide races round this bend like fury,” he said. “Bear on the oars,
+sir.”
+
+Seton thereupon came to Kerry’s assistance, and gradually the dinghy
+crept upon its course, until, below the little pier, they found a
+sheltered spot, where it was possible to run in and lie hidden. As they
+won this haven:
+
+“Quiet!” said Seton. “Don’t move the oars. Look! We were only just in
+time!”
+
+Immediately above them, where the boats were beached, a man was coming
+down the slope, carrying a hurricane lantern. As Kerry and Seton
+watched, the man raised the lantern and swung it to and fro.
+
+“Watch!” whispered Seton. “He’s signalling to the Greenwich bank!”
+
+Kerry’s teeth snapped savagely together, and he chewed but made no
+reply, until:
+
+“There it is!” he said rapidly. “On the marshes!”
+
+A speck of light in the darkness it showed, a distant moving lantern on
+the curtain of the night. Although few would have credited Kerry with
+the virtue, he was a man of cultured imagination, and it seemed to him,
+as it seemed to Seton Pasha, that the dim light symbolized the life of
+the missing woman, of the woman who hovered between the gay world from
+which tragically she had vanished and some Chinese hell upon whose
+brink she hovered. Neither of the watchers was thinking of the crime
+and the criminal, of Sir Lucien Pyne or Kazmah, but of Mrs. Monte
+Irvin, mysterious victim of a mysterious tragedy. “Oh, Dan! ye must
+find her! ye must find her! Puir weak hairt—dinna ye ken how she is
+suffering!” Clairvoyantly, to Kerry’s ears was borne an echo of his
+wife’s words.
+
+“The traffic!” he whispered. “If we lose George Martin tonight we
+deserve to lose the case!”
+
+“I agree, Chief Inspector,” said Seton quietly.
+
+The grating sound made by a boat thrust out from a shingle beach came
+to their ears above the whispering of the tide. A ghostly figure in the
+dim light, George Martin clambered into his craft and took to the oars.
+
+“If he’s for the Greenwich bank,” said Seton grimly, “he has a stiff
+task.”
+
+But for the Greenwich bank the boat was headed; and pulling mightily
+against the current, the man struck out into mid-stream. They watched
+him for some time, silently, noting how he fought against the tide,
+sturdily heading for the point at which the signal had shown. Then:
+
+“What do you suggest?” asked Seton. “He may follow the Surrey bank
+up-stream.”
+
+“I suggest,” said Kerry, “that we drift. Once in Limehouse Reach we’ll
+hear him. There are no pleasure parties punting about that stretch.”
+
+“Let us pull out, then. I propose that we wait for him at some
+convenient point between the West India Dock and Limehouse Basin.”
+
+“Good,” rapped Kerry, thrusting the boat out into the fierce current.
+“You may have spent a long time in the East, sir, but you’re fairly
+wise on the geography of the lower Thames.”
+
+Gripped in the strongly running tide they were borne smoothly
+up-stream, using the oars merely for the purpose of steering. The
+gloomy mystery of the London river claimed them and imposed silence
+upon them, until familiar landmarks told of the northern bend of the
+Thames, and the light above the Lavender Pond shone out upon the
+unctuously moving water.
+
+Each pulling a scull they headed in for the left bank.
+
+“There’s a wharf ahead,” said Seton, looking back over his shoulder.
+“If we put in beside it we can wait there unobserved.”
+
+“Good enough,” said Kerry.
+
+They bent to the oars, stealing stroke by stroke out of the grip of the
+tide, and presently came to a tiny pool above the wharf structure,
+where it was possible to lie undisturbed by the eager current.
+
+Those limitations which are common to all humanity and that guile which
+is peculiar to the Chinese veiled the fact from their ken that the
+deserted wharf, in whose shelter they lay, was at once the roof and the
+gateway of Sin Sin Wa’s receiving office!
+
+As the boat drew in to the bank, a Chinese boy who was standing on the
+wharf retired into the shadows. From a spot visible down-stream but
+invisible to the men in the boat, he signalled constantly with a
+hurricane lantern.
+
+Three men from New Scotland Yard were watching the house of Sin Sin Wa,
+and Sin Sin Wa had given no sign of animation since, some hours
+earlier, he had extinguished his bedroom light. Yet George, drifting
+noiselessly up-stream, received a signal to the effect “police” while
+Seton Pasha and Chief Inspector Kerry lay below the biggest dope cache
+in London. Seton sometimes swore under his breath. Kerry chewed
+incessantly. But George never came.
+
+At that eerie hour of the night when all things living, from the lowest
+to the highest, nor excepting Mother Earth herself, grow chilled, when
+all Nature’s perishable handiwork feels the touch of death—a wild,
+sudden cry rang out, a wailing, sorrowful cry, that seemed to come from
+nowhere, from everywhere, from the bank, from the stream; that rose and
+fell and died sobbing into the hushed whisper of the tide.
+
+Seton’s hand fastened like a vise on to Kerry’s shoulder, and:
+
+“Merciful God!” he whispered; “what was it? _Who_ was it?”
+
+“If it wasn’t a spirit it was a woman,” replied Kerry hoarsely; “and a
+woman very near to her end.”
+
+“Kerry!”—Seton Pasha had dropped all formality—“Kerry—if it calls for
+all the men that Scotland Yard can muster, we must search every
+building, down to the smallest rathole in the floor, on this bank—and
+do it by dawn!”
+
+“We’ll do it,” rapped Kerry.
+
+
+
+
+PART FOURTH
+THE EYE OF SIN SIN WA
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII.
+CHINESE MAGIC
+
+
+Detective-Sergeant Coombes and three assistants watched the house of
+Sin Sin Wa, and any one of the three would have been prepared to swear
+“on the Book” that Sin Sin Wa was sleeping. But he who watches a
+Chinaman watches an illusionist. He must approach his task in the
+spirit of a psychical inquirer who seeks to trap a bogus medium. The
+great Robert Houdin, one of the master wizards of modern times, quitted
+Petrograd by two gates at the same hour according to credible
+witnesses; but his performance sinks into insignificance beside that of
+a Chinese predecessor who flourished under one of the Ming emperors.
+The palace of this potentate was approached by gates, each having
+twelve locks, and each being watched by twelve guards. Nevertheless a
+distinguished member of the wizard family not only gained access to the
+imperial presence but also departed again unseen by any of the guards,
+and leaving all the gates locked behind him! If Detective-Sergeant
+Coombes had known this story he might not have experienced such
+complete confidence.
+
+That door of Sin Sin Wa’s establishment which gave upon a little
+backyard was oiled both lock and hinge so that it opened noiselessly.
+Like a shadow, like a ghost, Sin Sin Wa crept forth, closing the door
+behind him. He carried a sort of canvas kit-bag, so that one observing
+him might have concluded that he was “moving.”
+
+Resting his bag against the end wall, he climbed up by means of holes
+in the neglected brickwork until he could peer over the top. A faint
+smell of tobacco smoke greeted him: a detective was standing in the
+lane below. Soundlessly, Sin Sin Wa descended again. Raising his bag he
+lifted it lovingly until it rested upright upon the top of the wall and
+against the side of the house. The night was dark and still. Only a
+confused beating sound on the Surrey bank rose above the murmur of
+sleeping London.
+
+From the rubbish amid which he stood, Sin Sin Wa selected a piece of
+rusty barrel-hoop. Cautiously he mounted upon a wooden structure built
+against the end wall and raised himself upright, surveying the
+prospect. Then he hurled the fragment of iron far along the lane, so
+that it bounded upon a strip of corrugated roofing in a yard twice
+removed from his own, and fell clattering among a neighbor’s rubbish.
+
+A short exclamation came from the detective in the lane. He could be
+heard walking swiftly away in the direction of the disturbance. And ere
+he had gone six paces, Sin Sin Wa was bending like an inverted U over
+the wall and was lowering his precious bag to the ground. Like a cat he
+sprang across and dropped noiselessly beside it.
+
+“Hello! Who’s there?” cried the detective, standing by the wall of the
+house which Sin Sin Wa had selected as a target.
+
+Sin Sin Wa, bag in hand, trotted, soft of foot, across the lane and
+into the shadow of the dock-building. By the time that the C.I.D. man
+had decided to climb up and investigate the mysterious noise, Sin Sin
+Wa was on the other side of the canal and rapping gently upon the door
+of Sam Tûk’s hairdressing establishment.
+
+The door was opened so quickly as to suggest that someone had been
+posted there for the purpose. Sin Sin Wa entered and the door was
+closed again.
+
+“Light, Ah Fung,” he said in Chinese. “What news?”
+
+The boy who had admitted him took a lamp from under a sort of rough
+counter and turned to Sin Sin Wa.
+
+“George came with the boat, master, but I signalled to him that the red
+policeman and the agent who has hired the end room were watching.”
+
+“They are gone?”
+
+“They gather men at the head depot and are searching house from house.
+She who sleeps below awoke and cried out. They heard her cry.”
+
+“George waits?”
+
+“He waits, master. He will wait long if the gain is great.”
+
+“Good.”
+
+Sin Sin Wa shuffled across to the cellar stairs, followed by Ah Fung
+with the lamp. He descended, and, brushing away the carefully spread
+coal dust, inserted the piece of bent wire into the crevice and raised
+the secret trap. Bearing his bag upon his shoulder he went down into
+the tunnel.
+
+“Reclose the door, Ah Fung,” he said softly; “and be watchful.”
+
+As the boy replaced the stone trap, Sin Sin Wa struck a match. Then,
+having the lighted match held in one hand and carrying the bag in the
+other, he crept along the low passage to the door of the cache.
+Dropping the smouldering match-end, he opened the door and entered that
+secret warehouse for which so many people were seeking.
+
+Seated in a cane chair by the oil-stove was the shrivelled figure of
+Sam Tûk, his bald head lolling sideways so that his big horn-rimmed
+spectacles resembled a figure 8. On the counter was set a ship’s
+lantern. As Sin Sin Wa came in Sam Tûk slowly raised his head.
+
+No greetings were exchanged, but Sin Sin Wa untied the neck of his
+kit-bag and drew out a large wicker cage. Thereupon: “Hello! hello!”
+remarked the occupant drowsily. “Number one p’lice chop lo! Sin Sin
+Wa—Sin Sin....”
+
+“Come, my Tling-a-Ling,” crooned Sin Sin Wa.
+
+He opened the front of the cage and out stepped the raven onto his
+wrist. Sin Sin Wa raised his arm and Tling-a-Ling settled himself
+contentedly upon his master’s shoulder.
+
+Placing the empty cage on the counter. Sin Sin Wa plunged his hand down
+into the bag and drew out the gleaming wooden joss. This he set beside
+the cage. With never a glance at the mummy figure of Sam Tûk, he walked
+around the counter, raven on shoulder, and grasping the end of the
+laden shelves, he pulled the last section smoothly to the left, showing
+that it was attached to a sliding door. The establishments of Sin Sin
+Wa were as full of surprises as a Sicilian trinketbox.
+
+The double purpose of the timbering which had been added to this old
+storage vault was now revealed. It not only served to enlarge the
+store-room, but also shut off from view a second portion of the cellar,
+smaller than the first, and containing appointments which indicated
+that it was sometimes inhabited.
+
+There was an oil-stove in the room, which, like that adjoining it, was
+evidently unprovided with any proper means of ventilation. A
+paper-shaded lamp hung from the low roof. The floor was covered with
+matting, and there were arm-chairs, a divan and other items of
+furniture, which had been removed from Mrs. Sin’s sanctum in the
+dismantled House of a Hundred Raptures. In a recess a bed was placed,
+and as Sin Sin Wa came in Mrs. Sin was standing by the bed looking down
+at a woman who lay there.
+
+Mrs. Sin wore her kimona of embroidered green silk and made a striking
+picture in that sordid setting. Her black hair she had dyed a
+fashionable shade of red. She glanced rapidly across her shoulder at
+Sin Sin Wa—a glance of contempt with which was mingled faint distrust.
+
+“So,” she said, in Chinese, “you have come at last.” Sin Sin Wa smiled.
+“They watched the old fox,” he replied. “But their eyes were as the
+eyes of the mole.”
+
+Still aside, contemptuously, the woman regarded him, and:
+
+“Suppose they are keener than you think?” she said. “Are you sure you
+have not led them—here?”
+
+“The snail may not pursue the hawk,” murmured Sin Sin Wa; “nor the eye
+of the bat follow his flight.”
+
+“Smartest leg,” remarked the raven.
+
+“Yes, yes, my little friend,” crooned Sin Sin Wa, “very soon now you
+shall see the paddy-fields of Ho-Nan and watch the great Yellow River
+sweeping eastward to the sea.”
+
+“Pah!” said Mrs. Sin. “Much—very much—you care about the paddy-fields
+of Ho-Nan, and little, oh, very little, about the dollars and the
+traffic! You have my papers?”
+
+“All are complete. With those dollars for which I care not, a man might
+buy the world—if he had but enough of the dollars. You are well known
+in Poplar as ‘Mrs. Jacobs,’ and your identity is easily established—as
+‘Mrs. Jacobs.’ You join the _Mahratta_ at the Albert Dock. I have
+bought you a post as stewardess.”
+
+Mrs. Sin tossed her head. “And Juan?”
+
+“What can they prove against your Juan if _you_ are missing?”
+
+Mrs. Sin nodded towards the bed.
+
+With slow and shuffling steps Sin Sin Wa approached. He continued to
+smile, but his glittering eye held even less of mirth than usual.
+Tucking his hands into his sleeves, he stood and looked down—at Rita
+Irvin.
+
+Her face had acquired a waxen quality, but some of her delicate
+coloring still lingered, lending her a ghastly and mask-like aspect.
+Her nostrils and lips were blanched, however, and possessed a curiously
+pinched appearance. It was impossible to detect the fact that she
+breathed, and her long lashes lay motionless upon her cheeks.
+
+Sin Sin Wa studied her silently for some time, then:
+
+“Yes,” he murmured, “she is beautiful. But women are like adder’s eggs.
+He is a fool who warms them in his bosom.” He turned his slow regard
+upon Mrs. Sin. “You have stained your hair to look even as hers. It was
+discreet, my wife. But one is beautiful and many-shadowed like a copper
+vase, and the other is like a winter sunset on the poppy-fields. You
+remind me of the angry red policeman, and I tremble.”
+
+“Tremble as much as you like,” said Mrs. Sin scornfully, “but do
+something, think; don’t leave everything to me. She screamed
+tonight—and someone heard her. They are searching the river bank from
+door to door.”
+
+“Lo!” murmured Sin Sin Wa, “even this I had learned, nor failed to heed
+the beating of a distant drum. And why did she scream?”
+
+“I was—keeping her asleep; and the prick of the needle woke her.”
+
+“_Tchée, tchée_,” crooned Sin Sin Wa, his voice sinking lower and lower
+and his eye nearly closing. “But still she lives—and is beautiful.”
+
+“Beautiful!” mocked Mrs. Sin. “A doll-woman, bloodless and nerveless!”
+
+“So—so. Yet she, so bloodless and nerveless, unmasked the secret of
+Kazmah, and she, so bloodless and nerveless, struck down—”
+
+Mrs. Sin ground her teeth together audibly.
+
+“Yes, yes!” she said in sibilant Chinese. “She is a robber, a thief, a
+murderess.” She bent over the unconscious woman, her jewel-laden
+fingers crooked and menacing. “With my bare hands I would strangle her,
+but—”
+
+“There must be no marks of violence when she is found in the river.
+_Tchée, chée_—it is a pity.”
+
+“Number one p’lice chop, lo!” croaked the raven, following this remark
+with the police-whistle imitation.
+
+Mrs. Sin turned and stared fiercely at the one-eyed bird.
+
+“Why do you bring that evil, croaking thing here?” she demanded. “Have
+we not enough risks?”
+
+Sin Sin Wa smiled patiently.
+
+“Too many,” he murmured. “For failure is nothing but the taking of
+seven risks when six were enough. Come—let us settle our affairs. The
+‘Jacobs’ account is closed, but it is only a question of hours or days
+before the police learn that the wharf as well as the house belongs to
+someone of that name. We have drawn our last dollar from the traffic,
+my wife. Our stock we are resigned to lose. So let us settle our
+affairs.”
+
+“Smartest—smartest,” croaked Tling-a-Ling, and rattled ghostly
+castanets.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV.
+ABOVE AND BELOW
+
+
+“Thank the guid God I see ye alive, Dan,” said Mary Kerry.
+
+Having her husband’s dressing-gown over her night attire, and her
+usually neat hair in great disorder, she stood just within the doorway
+of the little dining-room at Spenser Road, her face haggard and the fey
+light in her eyes. Kerry, seated in the armchair dressed as he had come
+in from the street, a parody of his neat self with mud on his shoes and
+streaks of green slime on his overall, raised his face from his hands
+and stared at her wearily.
+
+“I awakened wi’ a cry at some hour afore the dawn,” she whispered
+stretching out her hands and looking like a wild-eyed prophetess of
+old. “My hairt beat sair fast and then grew caud. I droppit on my knees
+and prayed as I ha’ ne’er prayed afore. Dan, Dan, I thought ye were
+gene from me.”
+
+“I nearly was,” said Kerry, a faint spark of his old truculency
+lighting up the weary eyes. “The man from Whitehall only missed me by a
+miracle.”
+
+“’Twas the miracle o’ prayer, Dan,” declared his wife in a low,
+awe-stricken voice. “For as I prayed, a great comfort came to me an’ a
+great peace. The second sight was wi’ me, Dan, and I saw, no’
+yersel’—whereby I seemed to ken that ye were safe—but a puir dying soul
+stretched on a bed o’ sorrow. At the fuit o’ the bed was standing a
+fearsome figure o’ a man—yellow and wicked, wi’ his hands tuckit in his
+sleeves. I thought ’twas a veesion that was opening up tee me and that
+a’ was about to be made clear, when as though a curtain had been
+droppit before my een, it went awe’ an’ I kenned it nae more; but
+plain—plain, I heerd the howling o’ a dog.”
+
+Kerry started and clutched the arms of the chair.
+
+“A dog!” he said. “A dog!”
+
+“The howling o’ a sma’ dog,” declared his wife; “and I thought ’twas a
+portent, an’ the great fear came o’er me again. But as I prayed ’twas
+unfolder to me that the portent was no’ for yersel’ but for her—the
+puir weak hairt ye ha’ tee save.”
+
+She ceased speaking and the strange fey light left her eyes. She
+dropped upon her knees beside Kerry, bending her head and throwing her
+arms about him. He glanced down at her tenderly and laid his hands upon
+her shoulders; but he was preoccupied, and the next moment, his jaws
+moving mechanically, he was staring straight before him.
+
+“A dog,” he muttered, “a dog!”
+
+Mary Kerry did not move; until, a light of understanding coming into
+Kerry’s fierce eyes, he slowly raised her and stood upright himself.
+
+“I have it!” he said. “Mary, the case is won! Twenty men have spent the
+night and early morning beating the river bank so that the very rats
+have been driven from their holes. Twenty men have failed where a dog
+would have succeeded. Mary, I must be off.”
+
+“Ye’re no goin’ out again, Dan. Ye’re weary tee death.”
+
+“I must, my dear, and it’s _you_ who send me.”
+
+“But, Dan, where are ye goin’?”
+
+Kerry grabbed his hat and cane from the sideboard upon which they lay,
+and:
+
+“I’m going for the dog!” he rapped.
+
+Weary as he was and travel-stained, for once neglectful of that
+neatness upon which he prided himself, he set out, hope reborn in his
+heart. His assertion that the very rats had been driven from their
+holes was scarce an exaggeration. A search-party of twenty men, hastily
+mustered and conducted by Kerry and Seton Pasha, had explored every
+house, every shop, every wharf, and, as Kerry believed, every cellar
+adjoining the bank, between Limehouse Basin and the dock gates. Where
+access had been denied them or where no one had resided they had never
+hesitated to force an entrance. But no trace had they found of those
+whom they sought.
+
+For the first time within Kerry’s memory, or, indeed, within the memory
+of any member of the Criminal Investigation Department,
+Detective-Sergeant Coombes had ceased to smile when the appalling truth
+was revealed to him that Sin Sin Wa had vanished—that Sin Sin Wa had
+mysteriously joined that invisible company which included Kazmah, Mrs.
+Sin and Mrs. Monte Irvin. Not a word of reprimand did the Chief
+Inspector utter, but his eyes seemed to emit sparks. Hands plunged
+deeply in his pockets he had turned away, and not even Seton Pasha had
+dared to speak to him for fully five minutes.
+
+Kerry began to regard the one-eyed Chinaman with a superstitious fear
+which he strove in vain to stifle. That any man could have succeeded in
+converting a _chandu-khân_ such as that described by Mollie Gretna into
+a filthy deserted dwelling such as that visited by Kerry, within the
+space of some thirty-six hours, was well nigh incredible. But the Chief
+Inspector had deduced (correctly) that the exotic appointments depicted
+by Mollie were all of a detachable nature—merely masking the filthiness
+beneath; so that at the shortest notice the House of a Hundred Raptures
+could be dismantled. The communicating door was a larger proposition,
+but that it was one within the compass of Sin Sin Wa its effectual
+disappearance sufficiently demonstrated.
+
+Doubtless (Kerry mused savagely) the appointments of the opium-house
+had been smuggled into that magically hidden cache which now concealed
+the conjurer Sin Sin Wa as well as the other members of the Kazmah
+company. How any man of flesh and blood could have escaped from a
+six-roomed house surrounded by detectives surpassed Kerry’s powers of
+imagination. How any apartment large enough to contain a mouse, much
+less half a dozen human beings, could exist anywhere within the area
+covered by the search-party he failed to understand, nor was he
+prepared to admit it humanly possible.
+
+Kerry chartered a taxicab by Brixton Town Hall and directed the man to
+drive to Prince’s Gate. To the curious glances of certain of his
+neighbors who had never before seen the Chief Inspector otherwise than
+a model of cleanliness and spruceness he was indifferent. But the
+manner in which the taxi-driver looked him up and down penetrated
+through the veil of abstraction which hitherto had rendered Kerry
+impervious to all external impressions, and:
+
+“Give me another look like that, my lad,” he snapped furiously, “and
+I’ll bash your head through your blasted wind-screen.”
+
+A ready retort trembled upon the cabman’s tongue, but a glance into the
+savage blue eyes reduced him to fearful silence. Kerry entered the cab
+and banged the door; and the man drove off positively trembling with
+indignation.
+
+Deep in reflection the Chief Inspector was driven westward through the
+early morning traffic. Fine rain was falling, and the streets presented
+that curiously drab appearance which only London streets can present in
+all its dreary perfection. Workers bound Cityward fought for places
+inside trams and buses. A hundred human comedies and tragedies were to
+be witnessed upon the highways; but to all of them Kerry was blind as
+he was deaf to the din of workaday Babylon. In spirit he was roaming
+the bank of old Father Thames where the river sweeps eastward below
+Limehouse Causeway—wonder-stricken before the magic of the one-eyed
+wizard who could at will efface himself as an artist rubs out a
+drawing, who could _camouflage_ a drug warehouse so successfully that
+human skill, however closely addressed to the task, failed utterly to
+detect its whereabouts. Above the discord of the busy streets he heard
+again and again that cry in the night which had come from a hapless
+prisoner whom they were powerless to succor. He beat his cane upon the
+floor of the cab and swore savagely and loudly. The intimidated cabman,
+believing these demonstrations designed to urge him to a greater speed,
+performed feats of driving calculated to jeopardize his license. But
+still the savage passenger stamped and cursed, so that the cabby began
+to believe that a madman was seated behind him.
+
+At the corner of Kennington Oval Kerry was effectually aroused to the
+realities. A little runabout car passed his cab, coming from a
+southerly direction. Proceeding at a rapid speed it was lost in the
+traffic ahead. Unconsciously Kerry had glanced at the occupants and had
+recognized Margaret Halley and Seton Pasha. The old spirit of rivalry
+between himself and the man from Whitehall leapt up hotly within
+Kerry’s breast.
+
+“Now where the hell has _he_ been!” he muttered.
+
+As a matter of fact, Seton Pasha, acting upon a suggestion of
+Margaret’s had been to Brixton Prison to interview Juan Mareno who lay
+there under arrest. Contents bills announcing this arrest as the latest
+public development in the Bond Street murder case were to be seen upon
+every newstand; yet the problem of that which had brought Seton to the
+south of London was one with which Kerry grappled in vain. He had
+parted from the Home office agent in the early hours of the morning,
+and their parting had been one of mutual despair which neither had
+sought to disguise.
+
+It was a coincidence which a student of human nature might have
+regarded as significant, that whereas Kerry had taken his troubles home
+to his wife, Seton Pasha had sought inspiration from Margaret Halley;
+and whereas the guidance of Mary Kerry had led the Chief Inspector to
+hurry in quest of Rita Irvin’s spaniel, the result of Seton’s interview
+with Margaret had been an equally hurried journey to the big jail.
+
+Unhappily Seton had failed to elicit the slightest information from the
+saturnine Mareno. Unmoved alike by promises or threats, he had coolly
+adhered to his original evidence.
+
+So, while the authorities worked feverishly and all England reading of
+the arrest of Mareno inquired indignantly, “But who is Kazmah, and
+where is Mrs. Monte Irvin?” Sin Sin Wa placidly pursued his
+arrangements for immediate departure to the paddyfields of Ho-Nan, and
+sometimes in the weird crooning voice with which he addressed the raven
+he would sing a monotonous chant dealing with the valley of the Yellow
+River where the opium-poppy grows. Hidden in the cunning vault, the
+search had passed above him; and watchful on a quay on the Surrey shore
+whereto his dinghy was fastened, George Martin awaited the signal which
+should tell him that Kazmah and Company were ready to leave. Any time
+after dark he expected to see the waving lantern and to collect his
+last payment from the traffic.
+
+At the very hour that Kerry was hastening to Prince’s Gate, Sin Sin Wa
+sat before the stove in the drug cache, the green-eyed joss upon his
+knee. With a fragment of chamois leather he lovingly polished the
+leering idol, crooning softly to himself and smiling his mirthless
+smile. Perched upon his shoulder the raven studied this operation with
+apparent interest, his solitary eye glittering bead-like. Upon the
+opposite side of the stove sat the ancient Sam Tûk and at intervals of
+five minutes or more he would slowly nod his hairless head.
+
+The sliding door which concealed the inner room was partly open, and
+from the opening there shone forth a dim red light, cast by the
+paper-shaded lamp which illuminated the place. The coarse voice of the
+Cuban-Jewess rose and fell in a ceaseless half-muttered soliloquy,
+indescribably unpleasant but to which Sin Sin Wa was evidently
+indifferent.
+
+Propped up amid cushions on the divan which once had formed part of the
+furniture of the House of a Hundred Raptures, Mrs. Sin was smoking
+opium. The long bamboo pipe had fallen from her listless fingers, and
+her dark eyes were partly glazed. Buddha-like immobility was claiming
+her, but it had not yet effaced that expression of murderous malice
+with which the smoker contemplated the unconscious woman who lay upon
+the bed at the other end of the room.
+
+As the moments passed the eyes of Mrs. Sin grew more and more glazed.
+Her harsh voice became softened, and presently: “Ah!” she whispered;
+“so you wait to smoke with me?”
+
+Immobile she sat propped up amid the cushions, and only her full lips
+moved.
+
+“Two pipes are nothing to Cy,” she murmured. “He smokes five. But you
+are not going to smoke?”
+
+Again she paused, then:
+
+“Ah, my Lucy. You smoke with _me?_” she whispered coaxingly.
+
+_Chandu_ had opened the poppy gates. Mrs. Sin was conversing with her
+dead lover.
+
+“Something has changed you,” she sighed. “You are different—lately. You
+have lots of money now. Your investments have been good. You want to
+become—respectable, eh?”
+
+Slightly—ever so slightly—the red lips curled upwards. No sound of life
+came from the woman lying white and still in the bed. But through the
+partly open door crept snatches of Sin Sin Wa’s crooning melody.
+
+“Yet once,” she murmured, “yet once I seemed beautiful to you, Lucy.
+For La Belle Lola you forgot that English pride.” She laughed softly.
+“You forgot Sin Sin Wa. If there had been no Lola you would never have
+escaped from Buenos Ayres with your life, my Lucy. You forgot that
+English pride, and did not ask me where I got them from—the ten
+thousand dollars to buy your ‘honor’ back.”
+
+She became silent, as if listening to the dead man’s reply. Finally:
+
+“No—I do not reproach you, my dear,” she whispered. “You have paid me
+back a thousand fold, and Sin Sin Wa, the old fox, grows rich and fat.
+Today we hold the traffic in our hands, Lucy. The old fox cares only
+for his money. Before it is too late let us go—you and I. Do you
+remember Havana, and the two months of heaven we spent there? Oh, let
+us go back to Havana, Lucy. Kazmah has made us rich. Let Kazmah die....
+You smoke with me?”
+
+Again she became silent, then:
+
+“Very likely,” she murmured; “very likely I know why you don’t smoke.
+You have promised your pretty little friend that you will stay awake
+and see that nobody tries to cut her sweet white throat.”
+
+She paused momentarily, then muttered something rapidly in Spanish,
+followed by a short, guttural phrase in Chinese.
+
+“Why do you bring her to the house?” she whispered hoarsely. “And you
+brought her to Kazmah’s. Ah! I see. Now everybody says you are changed.
+Yes. She is a charming friend.”
+
+The Buddha-like face became suddenly contorted, and as suddenly grew
+placid again.
+
+“I know! I know!” Mrs. Sin muttered harshly. “Do you think I am blind!
+If she had been like any of the others, do you suppose it would have
+mattered to _me?_ But you _respect_ her—you _respect_....” Her voice
+died away to an almost inaudible whisper: “I don’t believe you. You are
+telling me lies. But you have always told me lies; one more does not
+matter, I suppose.... How strong you are. You have hurt my wrists. You
+will smoke with me now?”
+
+She ceased speaking abruptly, and abruptly resumed again:
+
+“And I do as you wish—I do as you wish. How can I keep her from it
+except by making the price so high that she cannot afford to buy it? I
+tell you I do it. I bargain for the pink and white boy, Quentin,
+because I want her to be indebted to him—because I want her to be so
+sorry for him that she lets him take her away from _you!_ Why should
+you _respect_ her—”
+
+Silence fell upon the drugged speaker. Sin Sin Wa could be heard
+crooning softly about the Yellow River and the mountain gods who sent
+it sweeping down through the valleys where the opium-poppy grows.
+
+“Go, Juan,” hissed Mrs. Sin. “I say—_go!_”
+
+Her voice changed eerily to a deep, mocking bass; and Rita Irvin lying,
+a pallid wraith of her once lovely self, upon the untidy bed, stirred
+slightly—her lashes quivering. Her eyes opened and stared straightly
+upward at the low, dirty ceiling, horror growing in their shadowy
+depths.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV.
+BEYOND THE VEIL
+
+
+Rita Irvin’s awakening was no awakening in the usually accepted sense
+of the word; it did not even represent a lifting of the veil which cut
+her off from the world, but no more than a momentary perception of the
+existence of such a veil and of the existence of something behind it.
+Upon the veil, in grey smoke, the name “Kazmah” was written in moving
+characters. Beyond the veil, dimly divined, was life.
+
+As of old the victims of the Inquisition, waking or dreaming, beheld
+ever before them the instrument of their torture, so before this
+woman’s racked and half-numbed mind panoramically passed, an endless
+pageant, the incidents of the night which had cut her off from living
+men and women. She tottered on the border-line which divides sanity
+from madness. She was learning what Sir Lucien had meant when, once,
+long long ago, in some remote time when she was young and happy and had
+belonged to a living world, he had said “a day is sure to come.” It had
+come, that “day.” It had dawned when she had torn the veil before
+Kazmah—and that veil had enveloped her ever since. All that had
+preceded the fatal act was blotted out, blurred and indistinct; all
+that had succeeded it lived eternally, passing, an endless pageant,
+before her tortured mind.
+
+The horror of the moment when she had touched the hands of the man
+seated in the big ebony chair was of such kind that no subsequent
+terrors had supplanted it. For those long, slim hands of the color of
+old ivory were cold, rigid, lifeless—the hands of a corpse! Thus the
+pageant began, and it continued as hereafter, memory and delusion
+taking the stage in turn.
+
+
+Complete darkness came.
+
+Rita uttered a wild cry of horror and loathing, shrinking back from the
+thing which sat in the ebony chair. She felt that consciousness was
+slipping from her; felt herself falling, and shrieked to know herself
+helpless and alone with Kazmah. She groped for support, but found none;
+and, moaning, she sank down, and was unconscious of her fall.
+
+A voice awakened her. Someone knelt beside her in the darkness,
+supporting her; someone who spoke wildly, despairingly, but with a
+strange, emotional reverence curbing the passion in his voice.
+
+“Rita—my Rita! What have they done to you? Speak to me.... Oh God!
+Spare her to me.... Let her hate me for ever, but spare her—spare her.
+Rita, speak to me! I tried, heaven hear me, to save you little girl. I
+only want you to be happy!”
+
+She felt herself being lifted gently, tenderly. And as though the man’s
+passionate entreaty had called her back from the dead, she reentered
+into life and strove to realize what had happened.
+
+Sir Lucien was supporting her, and she found it hard to credit the fact
+that it was he, the hard, nonchalant man of the world she knew, who had
+spoken. She clutched his arm with both hands.
+
+“Oh, Lucy!” she whispered. “I am so frightened—and so ill.”
+
+“Thank God,” he said huskily, “she is alive. Lean against me and try to
+stand up. We must get away from here.”
+
+Rita managed to stand upright, clinging wildly to Sir Lucien. A square,
+vaguely luminous opening became visible to her. Against it,
+silhouetted, she could discern part of the outline of Kazmah’s chair.
+She drew back, uttering a low, sobbing cry. Sir Lucien supported her,
+and:
+
+“Don’t be afraid, dear,” he said reassuringly. “Nothing shall hurt
+you.”
+
+He pushed open a door, and through it shone the same vague light which
+she had seen in the opening behind the chair. Sir Lucien spoke rapidly
+in a language which sounded like Spanish. He was answered by a perfect
+torrent of words in the same tongue.
+
+Fiercely he cried something back at the hidden speaker.
+
+A shriek of rage, of frenzy, came out of the darkness. Rita felt that
+consciousness was about to leave her again. She swayed forward dizzily,
+and a figure which seemed to belong to delirium—a lithe shadow out of
+which gleamed a pair of wild eyes—leapt upon her. A knife glittered....
+
+In order to have repelled the attack, Sir Lucien would have had to
+release Rita, who was clinging to him, weak and terror-stricken.
+Instead he threw himself before her.... She saw the knife enter his
+shoulder....
+
+Through absolute darkness she sank down into a land of chaotic
+nightmare horrors. Great bells clanged maddeningly. Impish hands
+plucked at her garments, dragged her hair. She was hurried this way and
+that, bruised, torn, and tossed helpless upon a sea of liquid brass.
+Through vast avenues lined with yellow, immobile Chinese faces she was
+borne upon a bier. Oblique eyes looked into hers. Knives which
+glittered greenly in the light of lamps globular and suspended in
+immeasurable space, were hurled at her in showers....
+
+Sir Lucien stood before her, supporting her; and all the knives buried
+themselves in his body. She tried to cry out, but no sound could she
+utter. Darkness fell again....
+
+A Chinaman was bending over her. His hands were tucked in his loose
+sleeves. He smiled, and his smile was hideous but friendly. He was
+strangely like Sin Sin Wa, save that he did not lack an eye.
+
+Rita found herself lying in an untidy bed in a room laden with opium
+fumes and dimly lighted. On a table beside her were the remains of a
+meal. She strove to recall having partaken of food, but was
+unsuccessful....
+
+There came a blank—then a sharp, stabbing pain in her right arm. She
+thought it was the knife, and shrieked wildly again and again....
+
+Years seemingly elapsed, years of agony spent amid oblique eyes which
+floated in space unattached to any visible body, amid reeking fumes and
+sounds of ceaseless conflict. Once she heard the cry of some bird, and
+thought it must be the parakeet which eternally sat on a branch of a
+lonely palm in the heart of the Great Sahara.... Then, one night, when
+she lay shrinking from the plucking yellow hands which reached out of
+the darkness:
+
+“Tell me your dream,” boomed a deep, mocking voice; “and I will read
+its portent!”
+
+She opened her eyes. She lay in the untidy bed in the room which was
+laden with the fumes of _chandu_. She stared upward at the low, dirty
+ceiling.
+
+“Why do you come to _me_ with your stories of desperation?” continued
+the mocking voice. “You have insisted upon seeing me. I am here.”
+
+Rita managed to move her head so that she could see more of the room.
+
+On a divan at the other end of the place, propped up by a number of
+garish cushions, Rita beheld Mrs. Sin. The long bamboo pipe had fallen
+from her listless fingers. Her face wore an expression of mystic
+rapture, like that characterizing the features of some Chinese
+Buddhas....
+
+In the other corner of the divan, contemplating her from under heavy
+brows, sat _Kazmah_....
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI.
+SAM TÛK MOVES
+
+
+Chinatown was being watched as Chinatown had never been watched before,
+even during the most stringent enforcement of the Defence of the Realm
+Act. K Division was on its mettle, and Scotland Yard had sent to aid
+Chief Inspector Kerry every man that could be spared to the task. The
+River Police, too, were aflame with zeal; for every officer in the
+service whose work lay east of London Bridge had appropriated to
+himself the stigma implied by the creation of Lord Wrexborough’s
+commission.
+
+“Corners” in foodstuffs, metals, and other indispensable commodities
+are appreciated by every man, because every man knows such things to
+exist; but a corner in drugs was something which the East End police
+authorities found very difficult to grasp. They could not free their
+minds of the traditional idea that every second Chinaman in the
+Causeway was a small importer. They were seeking a hundred lesser
+stores instead of one greater one. Not all Seton’s quiet explanations
+nor Kerry’s savage language could wean the higher local officials from
+their ancient beliefs. They failed to conceive the idea of a wealthy
+syndicate conducted by an educated Chinaman and backed, covered, and
+protected by a crooked gentleman and accomplished man of affairs.
+
+Perhaps they knew and perhaps they knew not, that during the period
+ruled by D.O.R.A. as much as £25 was paid by habitués for one pipe of
+_chandu_. The power of gold is often badly estimated by an official
+whose horizon is marked by a pension. This is mere lack of imagination,
+and no more reflects discredit upon a man than lack of hair on his
+crown or of color in his cheeks. Nevertheless, it may prove very
+annoying.
+
+Towards the close of an afternoon which symbolized the worst that
+London’s particular climate can do in the matter of drizzling rain and
+gloom, Chief Inspector Kerry, carrying an irritable toy spaniel, came
+out of a turning which forms a V with Limehouse Canal, into a narrow
+street which runs parallel with the Thames. He had arrived at the
+conclusion that the neighborhood was sown so thickly with detectives
+that one could not throw a stone without hitting one. Yet Sin Sin Wa
+had quietly left his abode and had disappeared from official ken.
+
+Three times within the past ten minutes the spaniel had tried to bite
+Kerry, nor was Kerry blind to the amusement which his burden had
+occasioned among the men of K Division whom he had met on his travels.
+Finally, as he came out into the riverside lane, the ill-tempered
+little animal essayed a fourth, and successful, attempt, burying his
+wicked white teeth in the Chief Inspector’s wrist.
+
+Kerry hooked his finger into the dog’s collar, swung the yapping animal
+above his head, and hurled it from him into the gloom and rain mist.
+
+“Hell take the blasted thing!” he shouted. “I’m done with it!”
+
+He tenderly sucked his wounded wrist, and picking up his cane, which he
+had dropped, he looked about him and swore savagely. Of Seton Pasha he
+had had news several times during the day, and he was aware that the
+Home office agent was not idle. But to that old rivalry which had leapt
+up anew when he had seen Seton near Kennington oval had succeeded a
+sort of despair; so that now he would have welcomed the information
+that Seton had triumphed where he had failed. A furious hatred of the
+one-eyed Chinaman around whom he was convinced the mystery centred had
+grown up within his mind. At that hour he would gladly have resigned
+his post and sacrificed his pension to know that Sin Sin Wa was under
+lock and key. His outlook was official, and accordingly peculiar. He
+regarded the murder of Sir Lucien Pyne and the flight or abduction of
+Mrs. Monte Irvin as mere minor incidents in a case wherein Sin Sin Wa
+figured as the chief culprit. Nothing had acted so powerfully to bring
+about this conviction in the mind of the Chief Inspector as the
+inexplicable disappearance of the Chinaman under circumstances which
+had apparently precluded such a possibility.
+
+A whimpering cry came to Kerry’s ears; and because beneath the mask of
+ferocity which he wore a humane man was concealed: “Flames!” he
+snapped; “perhaps I’ve broken the poor little devil’s leg.”
+
+Shaking a cascade of water from the brim of his neat bowler, he set off
+through the murk towards the spot from whence the cries of the spaniel
+seemed to proceed. A few paces brought him to the door of a dirty
+little shop. In a window close beside it appeared the legend:
+
+SAM TÛK
+BARBER.
+
+
+The spaniel crouched by the door whining and scratching, and as Kerry
+came up it raised its beady black eyes to him with a look which, while
+it was not unfearful, held an unmistakable appeal. Kerry stood watching
+the dog for a moment, and as he watched he became conscious of an
+exhilarated pulse.
+
+He tried the door and found it to be open. Thereupon he entered a dirty
+little shop, which he remembered to have searched in person in the grey
+dawn of the day which now was entering upon a premature dusk. The dog
+ran in past him, crossed the gloomy shop, and raced down into a tiny
+coal cellar, which likewise had been submitted during the early hours
+of the morning to careful scrutiny under the directions of the Chief
+Inspector.
+
+A Chinese boy, who had been the only occupant of the place on that
+occasion and who had given his name as Ah Fung, was surprised by the
+sudden entrance of man and dog in the act of spreading coal dust with
+his fingers upon a portion of the paved floor. He came to his feet with
+a leap and confronted Kerry. The spaniel began to scratch feverishly
+upon the spot where the coal dust had been artificially spread. Kerry’s
+eyes gleamed like steel. He shot out his hand and grasped the Chinaman
+by his long hair. “Open that trap,” he said, “or I’ll break you in
+half!”
+
+Ah Fung’s oblique eyes regarded him with an expression difficult to
+analyze, but partly it was murder. He made no attempt to obey the
+order. Meanwhile the dog, whining and scratching furiously, had exposed
+the greater part of a stone slab somewhat larger than those adjoining
+it, and having a large crack or fissure in one end.
+
+“For the last time,” said Kerry, drawing the man’s head back so that
+his breath began to whistle through his nostrils, “open that trap.”
+
+As he spoke he released Ah Fung, and Ah Fung made one wild leap towards
+the stairs. Kerry’s fist caught him behind the ear as he sprang, and he
+went down like a dead man upon a small heap of coal which filled the
+angle of the cellar.
+
+Breathing rapidly and having his teeth so tightly clenched that his
+maxillary muscles protruded lumpishly, Kerry stood looking at the
+fallen man. But Ah Fung did not move. The dog had ceased to scratch,
+and now stood uttering short staccato barks and looking up at the Chief
+Inspector. Otherwise there was no sound in the house, above or below.
+
+Kerry stooped, and with his handkerchief scrupulously dusted the stone
+slab. The spaniel, resentment forgotten, danced excitedly beside him
+and barked continuously.
+
+“There’s some sort of hook to fit in that crack,” muttered Kerry.
+
+He began to hunt about among the debris which littered one end of the
+cellar, testing fragment after fragment, but failing to find any piece
+of scrap to suit his purpose. By sheer perseverance rather than by any
+process of reasoning, he finally hit upon the piece of bent wire which
+was the key to this door of Sin Sin Wa’s drug warehouse.
+
+One short exclamation of triumph he muttered at the moment that his
+glance rested upon it, and five seconds later he had the trapdoor open
+and was peering down into the narrow pit in which wooden steps rested.
+The spaniel began to bark wildly, whereupon Kerry grasped him, tucked
+him under his arm, and ran up to the room above, where he deposited the
+furiously wriggling animal. He stepped quickly back again and closed
+the upper door. By this act he plunged the cellar into complete
+darkness, and accordingly he took out from the pocket of his
+rain-drenched overall the electric torch which he always carried.
+Directing its ray downwards into the cellar, he perceived Ah Fung move
+and toss his hand above his head. He also detected a faint rattling
+sound.
+
+“Ah!” said Kerry.
+
+He descended, and stooping over the unconscious man extracted from the
+pocket of his baggy blue trousers four keys upon a ring. At these Kerry
+stared eagerly. Two of them belonged to yale locks; the third was a
+simple English barrel-key, which probably fitted a padlock; but the
+fourth was large and complicated.
+
+“Looks like the key of a jail,” he said aloud.
+
+He spoke with unconscious prescience. This was the key of the door of
+the vault. Removing his overall, Kerry laid it with his cane upon the
+scrap-heap, then he climbed down the ladder and found himself in the
+mouth of that low timbered tunnel, like a trenchwork, which owed its
+existence to the cunning craftsmanship of Sin Sin Wa. Stooping
+uncomfortably, he made his way along the passage until the massive door
+confronted him. He was in no doubt as to which key to employ; his
+mental condition was such that he was indifferent to the dangers which
+probably lay before him.
+
+The well-oiled lock operated smoothly. Kerry pushed the door open and
+stepped briskly into the vault.
+
+His movements, from the moment that he had opened the trap, had been
+swift and as nearly noiseless as the difficulties of the task had
+permitted. Nevertheless, they had not been so silent as to escape the
+attention of the preternaturally acute Sin Sin Wa. Kerry found the
+place occupied only by the aged Sam Tûk. A bright fire burned in the
+stove, and a ship’s lantern stood upon the counter. Dense chemical
+fumes rendered the air difficult to breathe; but the shelves, once
+laden with the largest illicit collection of drugs in London, were
+bare.
+
+Kerry’s fierce eyes moved right and left; his jaws worked
+automatically. Sam Tûk sat motionless, his hands concealed in his
+sleeves, bending decrepitly forward in his chair. Then:
+
+“Hi! Guy Fawkes!” rapped Kerry, striding forward. “Who’s been letting
+off fire-works?”
+
+Sam Tûk nodded senilely, but spoke not a word.
+
+Kerry stooped and stared into the heart of the fire. A dense coat of
+white ash lay upon the embers. He grasped the shoulder of the aged
+Chinaman, and pushed him back so that he could look into the bleared
+eyes behind the owlish spectacles.
+
+“Been cleaning up the ‘evidence,’ eh?” he shouted. “This joint stinks
+of opium and a score of other dopes. Where are the gang?” He shook the
+yielding, ancient frame. “Where’s the smart with one eye?”
+
+But Sam Tûk merely nodded, and as Kerry released his hold sank forward
+again, nodding incessantly.
+
+“H’m, you’re a hard case,” said the Chief Inspector. “A couple of
+witnesses like you and the jury would retire to Bedlam!”
+
+He stood glaring fiercely at the limp frame of the old Chinaman, and as
+he glared his expression changed. Lying on the dirty floor not a yard
+from Sam Tûk’s feet was a ball of leaf opium!
+
+“Ha!” exclaimed Kerry, and he stooped to pick it up.
+
+As he did so, with a lightning movement of which the most astute
+observer could never have supposed him capable, Sam Tûk whipped a
+loaded rubber tube from his sleeve and struck Kerry a shrewd blow
+across the back of the skull.
+
+The Chief Inspector, without word or cry, collapsed upon his knees, and
+then fell gently forward—forward—and toppled face downwards before his
+assailant. His bowler fell off and rolled across the dirty floor.
+
+Sam Tûk sank deeply into his chair, and his toothless jaws worked
+convulsively. The skinny hand which clutched the piece of tubing
+twitched and shook, so that the primitive deadly weapon fell from its
+wielder’s grasp.
+
+Silently, that set of empty shelves nearest to the inner wall of the
+vault slid open, and Sin Sin Wa came out. He, too, carried his hands
+tucked in his sleeves, and his yellow, pock-marked face wore its
+eternal smile.
+
+“Well done,” he crooned softly in Chinese. “Well done, bald father of
+wisdom. The dogs draw near, but the old fox sleeps not.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVII.
+SETON PASHA REPORTS
+
+
+At about the time that the fearless Chief Inspector was entering the
+establishment of Sam Tûk Seton Pasha was reporting to Lord Wrexborough
+in Whitehall. His nautical disguise had served its purpose, and he had
+now finally abandoned it, recognizing that he had to deal with a
+criminal of genius to whom disguise merely afforded matter for
+amusement.
+
+In his proper person, as Greville Seton, he afforded a marked contrast
+to that John Smiles, seaman, who had sat in a top room in Limehouse
+with Chief Inspector Kerry. And although he had to report failure, the
+grim, bronzed face and bright grey eyes must have inspired in the heart
+of any thoughtful observer confidence in ultimate success. Lord
+Wrexborough, silver-haired, florid and dignified, sat before a vast
+table laden with neatly arranged dispatch-boxes, books, documents tied
+with red tape, and the other impressive impedimenta which characterize
+the table of a Secretary of State. Quentin Gray, unable to conceal his
+condition of nervous excitement, stared from a window down into
+Whitehall.
+
+“I take it, then, Seton,” Lord Wrexborough was saying, “that in your
+opinion—although perhaps it is somewhat hastily formed—there is and has
+been no connivance between officials and receivers of drugs?”
+
+“That is my opinion, sir. The traffic has gradually and ingeniously
+been ‘ringed’ by a wealthy group. Smaller dealers have been bought out
+or driven out, and today I believe it would be difficult, if not
+impossible, to obtain opium, cocaine, or veronal illicitly anywhere in
+London. Kazmah and Company had the available stock cornered. Of course,
+now that they are out of business, no doubt others will step in. It is
+a trade that can never be suppressed under existing laws.”
+
+“I see, I see,” muttered Lord Wrexborough, adjusting his pince-nez.
+“You also believe that Kazmah and Company are in hiding within what you
+term”—he consulted a written page—“the ‘Causeway area’? And you believe
+that the man called Sin Sin Wa is the head of the organization?”
+
+“I believe the late Sir Lucien Pyne was the actual head of the group,”
+said Seton bluntly. “But Sin Sin Wa is the acting head. In view of his
+physical peculiarities, I don’t quite see how he’s going to escape us,
+either, sir. His wife has a fighting chance, and as for Mohammed
+el-Kazmah, he might sail for anywhere tomorrow, and we should never
+know. You see, we have no description of the man.”
+
+“His passports?” murmured Lord Wrexborough.
+
+Seton Pasha smiled grimly.
+
+“Not an insurmountable difficulty, sir,” he replied, “but Sin Sin Wa is
+a marked man. He has the longest and thickest pigtail which I ever saw
+on a human scalp. I take it he is a Southerner of the old school;
+therefore, he won’t cut it off. He has also only one eye, and while
+there are many one-eyed Chinamen, there are few one-eyed Chinamen who
+possess pigtails like a battleship’s hawser. Furthermore, he travels
+with a talking raven, and I’ll swear he won’t leave it behind. On the
+other hand, he is endowed with an amount of craft which comes very near
+to genius.”
+
+“And—Mrs. Monte Irvin?”
+
+Quentin Gray turned suddenly, and his boyish face was very pale.
+
+“Seton, Seton!” he said. “For God’s sake tell me the truth! Do you
+think—”
+
+He stopped, choking emotionally. Seton Pasha watched him with that
+cool, confident stare which could either soothe or irritate; and:
+
+“She was alive this morning, Gray,” he replied quietly, “we heard her.
+You may take it from me that they will offer her no violence. I shall
+say no more.”
+
+Lord Wrexborough cleared his throat and took up a document from the
+table.
+
+“Your remark raises another point, Quentin,” he said sternly, “which
+has to be settled today. Your appointment to Cairo was confirmed this
+morning. You sail on Tuesday.”
+
+Quentin Gray turned again abruptly and stared out of the window.
+
+“You’re practically kicking me out, sir,” he said. “I don’t know what
+I’ve done.”
+
+“You have done nothing,” replied Lord Wrexborough “which an honorable
+man may not do. But in common with many others similarly circumstanced,
+you seem inclined, now that your military duties are at an end, to
+regard life as a sort of perpetual ‘leave.’ I speak frankly before
+Seton because I know that he agrees with me. My friend the Foreign
+Secretary has generously offered you an appointment which opens up a
+career that should not—I repeat, that should not prove less successful
+than his own.”
+
+Gray turned, and his face had flushed deeply.
+
+“I know that Margaret has been scaring you about Rita Irvin,” he said,
+“but on my word, sir, there was no need to do it.”
+
+He met Seton Pasha’s cool regard, and:
+
+“Margaret’s one of the best,” he added. “I know you agree with me?”
+
+A faint suggestion of added color came into Seton’s tanned cheeks.
+
+“I do, Gray,” he answered quietly. “I believe you are good enough to
+look upon me as a real friend; therefore allow me to add my advice, for
+what it is worth, to that of Lord Wrexborough and your cousin: take the
+Egyptian appointment. I know where it will lead. You can do no good by
+remaining in London; and when we find Mrs. Irvin your presence would be
+an embarrassment to the unhappy man who waits for news at Prince’s
+Gate. I am frank, but it’s my way.”
+
+He held out his hand, smiling. Quentin Gray’s mercurial complexion was
+changing again, but:
+
+“Good old Seton!” he said, rather huskily, and gripped the outstretched
+hand. “For Irvin’s sake, save her!”
+
+He turned to his father.
+
+“Thank you, sir,” he added, “you are always right. I shall be ready on
+Tuesday. I suppose you are off again, Seton?”
+
+“I am,” was the reply. “Chief Inspector Kerry is moving heaven and
+earth to find the Kazmah establishment, and I don’t want to come in a
+poor second.”
+
+Lord Wrexborough cleared his throat and turned in the padded revolving
+chair.
+
+“Honestly, Seton,” he said, “what do you think of your chance of
+success?”
+
+Seton Pasha smiled grimly.
+
+“Many ascribe success to wit,” he replied, “and failure to bad luck;
+but the Arab says ‘Kismet.’”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVIII.
+THE SONG OF SIN SIN WA
+
+
+Mrs. Sin, aroused by her husband from the deep opium sleep, came out
+into the fume-laden vault. Her dyed hair was disarranged, and her dark
+eyes stared glassily before her; but even in this half-drugged state
+she bore herself with the lithe carriage of a dancer, swinging her hips
+lazily and pointing the toes of her high-heeled slippers.
+
+“Awake, my wife,” crooned Sin Sin Wa. “Only a fool seeks the black
+smoke when the jackals sit in a ring.”
+
+Mrs. Sin gave him a glance of smiling contempt—a glance which, passing
+him, rested finally upon the prone body of Chief Inspector Kerry lying
+stretched upon the floor before the stove. Her pupils contracted to
+mere pin-points and then dilated blackly. She recoiled a step, fighting
+with the stupor which her ill-timed indulgence had left behind.
+
+At this moment Kerry groaned loudly, tossed his arm out with a
+convulsive movement, and rolled over on to his side, drawing up his
+knees.
+
+The eye of Sin Sin Wa gleamed strangely, but he did not move, and Sam
+Tûk who sat huddled in his chair where his feet almost touched the
+fallen man, stirred never a muscle. But Mrs. Sin, who still moved in a
+semi-phantasmagoric world, swiftly raised the hem of her kimona,
+affording a glimpse of a shapely silk-clad limb. From a sheath attached
+to her garter she drew a thin stilletto. Curiously feline, she
+crouched, as if about to spring.
+
+Sin Sin Wa extended his hand, grasping his wife’s wrist.
+
+“No, woman of indifferent intelligence,” he said in his queer sibilant
+language, “since when has murder gone unpunished in these British
+dominions?”
+
+Mrs. Sin snatched her wrist from his grasp, falling back wild-eyed.
+
+“Yellow ape! yellow ape!” she said hoarsely. “One more does not
+matter—now.”
+
+“One more?” crooned Sin Sin Wa, glancing curiously at Kerry.
+
+“They are here! We are trapped!”
+
+“No, no,” said Sin Sin Wa. “He is a brave man; he comes alone.”
+
+He paused, and then suddenly resumed in pidgin English:
+
+“You likee killa him, eh?”
+
+Perhaps unconscious that she did so, Mrs. Sin replied also in English:
+
+“No, I am mad. Let me think, old fool!”
+
+She dropped the stiletto and raised her hand dazedly to her brow.
+
+“You gotchee tired of knifee chop, eh?” murmured Sin Sin Wa.
+
+Mrs. Sin clenched her hands, holding them rigidly against her hips;
+and, nostrils dilated, she stared at the smiling Chinaman.
+
+“What do you mean?” she demanded.
+
+Sin Sin Wa performed his curious oriental shrug.
+
+“You putta topside pidgin on Sir Lucy alla lightee,” he murmured.
+“Givee him hell alla velly proper.”
+
+The pupils of the woman’s eyes contracted again, and remained so. She
+laughed hoarsely and tossed her head.
+
+“Who told you that?” she asked contemptuously. “It was the doll-woman
+who killed him—I have said so.”
+
+“_You_ tella me so—_hoi, hoi!_ But old Sin Sin Wa catchee wonder.
+Lo!”—he extended a yellow forefinger, pointing at his wife—“Mrs. Sin
+make him catchee die! No bhobbery, no palaber. Sin Sin Wa gotchee you
+sized up allee timee.”
+
+Mrs. Sin snapped her fingers under his nose then stooped, picked up the
+stiletto, and swiftly restored it to its sheath. Her hands resting upon
+her hips, she came forward, until her dark evil face almost touched the
+yellow, smiling face of Sin Sin Wa.
+
+“Listen, old fool,” she said in a low, husky voice; “I have done with
+you, ape-man, for good! Yes! _I_ killed Lucy, _I_ killed him! He
+belonged to _me_—until that pink and white thing took him away. I am
+glad I killed him. If I cannot have him neither can she. But I was mad
+all the same.”
+
+She glanced down at Kerry, and:
+
+“Tie him up,” she directed, “and send him to sleep. And understand,
+Sin, we’ve shared out for the last time—You go your way and I go mine.
+No stinking Yellow River for me. New York is good enough until it’s
+safe to go to Buenos Ayres.”
+
+“Smartest leg in Buenos Ayres,” croaked the raven from his wicker cage,
+which was set upon the counter.
+
+Sin Sin Wa regarded him smilingly.
+
+“Yes, yes, my little friend,” he crooned in Chinese, while Tling-a-Ling
+rattled ghostly castanets. “In Ho-Nan they will say that you are a
+devil and I am a wizard. That which is unknown is always thought to be
+magical, my Tling-a-Ling.”
+
+Mrs. Sin, who was rapidly throwing off the effects of opium and
+recovering her normal self-confident personality, glanced at her
+husband scornfully.
+
+“Tell me,” she said, “what has happened? How did he come here?”
+
+“Blinga filly doggy,” murmured Sin Sin Wa. “Knockee Ah Fung on him head
+and comee down here, lo. Ah Fung allee lightee now—topside. Chasee
+filly doggy. Allee velly proper. No bhobbery.”
+
+“Talk less and act more,” said Mrs. Sin. “Tie him up, and if you _must_
+talk, talk Chinese. Tie him up.”
+
+She pointed to Kerry. Sin Sin Wa tucked his hands into his sleeves and
+shuffled towards the masked door communicating with the inner room.
+
+“Only by intelligent speech are we distinguished from the other
+animals,” he murmured in Chinese.
+
+Entering the inner room, he began to extricate a long piece of thin
+rope from amid a tangle of other materials with which it was
+complicated. Mrs. Sin stood looking down at the fallen man. Neither
+Kerry nor Sam Tûk gave the slightest evidence of life. And as Sin Sin
+Wa disentangled yard upon yard of rope from the bundle on the floor by
+the bed where Rita Irvin lay in her long troubled sleep, he crooned a
+queer song. It was in the Ho-Nan dialect and intelligible to himself
+alone.
+
+“Shöa, the evil woman (_he chanted_), the woman of many strange
+loves....
+Shöa, the ghoul....
+Lo, the Yellow River leaps forth from the nostrils of the mountain
+god....
+Shöa, the betrayer of men....
+Blood is on her brow.
+Lo, the betrayer is betrayed. Death sits at her elbow.
+See, the Yellow River bears a corpse upon its tide...
+Dead men hear her secret.
+Shöa, the ghoul....
+Shöa, the evil woman. Death sits at her elbow.
+Black, the vultures flock about her....
+Lo, the Yellow River leaps forth from the nostrils of the mountain
+god.”
+
+
+Meanwhile Kerry, lying motionless at the feet of Sam Tûk was doing some
+hard and rapid thinking. He had recovered consciousness a few moments
+before Mrs. Sin had come into the vault from the inner room. There were
+those, Seton Pasha among them, who would have regarded the groan and
+the convulsive movements of Kerry’s body with keen suspicion. And
+because the Chief Inspector suffered from no illusions respecting the
+genius of Sin Sin Wa, the apparent failure of the one-eyed Chinaman to
+recognize these preparations for attack nonplussed the Chief Inspector.
+His outstanding vice as an investigator was the directness of his own
+methods and of his mental outlook, so that he frequently experienced
+great difficulty in penetrating to the motives of a tortuous brain such
+as that of Sin Sin Wa.
+
+That Sin Sin Wa thought him to be still unconscious he did not believe.
+He was confident that his tactics had deceived the Jewess, but he
+entertained an almost superstitious respect for the cleverness of the
+Chinaman. The trick with the ball of leaf opium was painfully fresh in
+his memory.
+
+Kerry, in common with many members of the Criminal Investigation
+Department, rarely carried firearms. He was a man with a profound
+belief in his bare hands—aided when necessary by his agile feet. At the
+moment that Sin Sin Wa had checked the woman’s murderous and half
+insane outburst Kerry had been contemplating attack. The sudden change
+of language on the part of the Chinaman had arrested him in the act;
+and, realizing that he was listening to a confession which placed the
+hangman’s rope about the neck of Mrs. Sin, he lay still and wondered.
+
+Why had Sin Sin Wa forced his wife to betray herself? To clear Mareno?
+To clear Mrs. Irvin—or to save his own skin?
+
+It was a frightful puzzle for Kerry. Then—where was Kazmah? That Mrs.
+Irvin, probably in a drugged condition, lay somewhere in that
+mysterious inner room Kerry felt fairly sure. His maltreated skull was
+humming like a bee-hive and aching intensely, but the man was tough as
+men are made, and he could not only think clearly, but was capable of
+swift and dangerous action.
+
+He believed that he could tackle the Chinaman with fair prospects of
+success; and women, however murderous, he habitually disregarded as
+adversaries. But the mummy-like, deceptive Sam Tûk was not negligible,
+and Kazmah remained an unknown quantity.
+
+From under that protective arm, cast across his face, Kerry’s fierce
+eyes peered out across the dirty floor. Then quickly he shut his eyes
+again.
+
+Sin Sin Wa, crooning his strange song, came in carrying a coil of
+rope—and a Mauser pistol!
+
+“P’licemanee gotchee catchee sleepee,” he murmured, “or maybe he
+catchee die!”
+
+He tossed the rope to his wife, who stood silent tapping the floor with
+one slim restless foot.
+
+“Number one top-side tie up,” he crooned. “Sin Sin Wa watchee withum
+gun!”
+
+Kerry lay like a dead man; for in the Chinaman’s voice were menace and
+warning.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIX.
+THE EMPTY WHARF
+
+
+The suspected area of Limehouse was closely invested as any fortress of
+old when Seton Pasha once more found himself approaching that painfully
+familiar neighborhood. He had spoken to several pickets, and had
+gathered no news of interest, except that none of them had seen Chief
+Inspector Kerry since some time shortly before dusk. Seton, newly from
+more genial climes, shivered as he contemplated the misty, rain-swept
+streets, deserted and but dimly lighted by an occasional lamp. The
+hooting of a steam siren on the river seemed to be in harmony with the
+prevailing gloom, and the most confirmed optimist must have suffered
+depression amid those surroundings.
+
+He had no definite plan of action. Every line of inquiry hitherto
+followed had led to nothing but disappointment. With most of the
+details concerning the elaborate organization of the Kazmah group
+either gathered or in sight, the whereabouts of the surviving members
+remained a profound mystery. From the Chinese no information could be
+obtained. Distrust of the police resides deep within the Chinese heart;
+for the Chinaman, and not unjustly, regards the police as ever ready to
+accuse him and ever unwilling to defend him; knows himself for a pariah
+capable of the worst crimes, and who may therefore be robbed, beaten
+and even murdered by his white neighbors with impunity. But when the
+police seek information from Chinatown, Chinatown takes its revenge—and
+is silent.
+
+Out on the river, above and below Limehouse, patrols watched for
+signals from the Asiatic quarter, and from a carefully selected spot on
+the Surrey side George Martin watched also. Not even the lure of a
+neighboring tavern could draw him from his post. Hour after hour he
+waited patiently—for Sin Sin Wa paid fair prices, and tonight he bought
+neither opium nor cocaine, but liberty.
+
+Seton Pasha, passing from point to point, and nowhere receiving news of
+Kerry, began to experience a certain anxiety respecting the safety of
+the intrepid Chief Inspector. His mind filled with troubled
+conjectures, he passed the house formerly occupied by the one-eyed
+Chinaman—where he found Detective-Sergeant Coombes on duty and very
+much on the alert—and followed the bank of the Thames in the direction
+of Limehouse Basin. The narrow, ill-lighted street was quite deserted.
+Bad weather and the presence of many police had driven the Asiatic
+inhabitants indoors. But from the river and the docks arose the
+incessant din of industry. Whistles shrieked and machinery clanked, and
+sometimes remotely came the sound of human voices.
+
+Musing upon the sordid mystery which seems to underlie the whole of
+this dingy quarter, Seton pursued his way, crossing inlets and circling
+around basins dimly divined, turning to the right into a lane flanked
+by high eyeless walls, and again to the left, finally to emerge nearly
+opposite a dilapidated gateway giving access to a small wharf.
+
+All unconsciously, he was traversing the same route as that recently
+pursued by the fugitive Sin Sin Wa; but now he paused, staring at the
+empty wharf. The annexed building, a mere shell, had not escaped
+examination by the search party, and it was with no very definite
+purpose in view that Seton pushed open the rickety gate. Doubtless
+Kismet, of which the Arabs speak, dictated that he should do so.
+
+The tide was high, and the water whispered ghostly under the
+pile-supported structure. Seton experienced a new sense of chill which
+did not seem to be entirely physical as he stared out at the gloomy
+river prospect and listened to the uncanny whisperings of the tide. He
+was about to turn back when another sound attracted his attention. A
+dog was whimpering somewhere near him.
+
+At first he was disposed to believe that the sound was due to some
+other cause, for the deserted wharf was not a likely spot in which to
+find a dog, but when to the faint whimpering there was added a
+scratching sound, Seton’s last doubts vanished.
+
+“It’s a dog,” he said, “a small dog.”
+
+Like Kerry, he always carried an electric pocket-lamp, and now he
+directed its rays into the interior of the building.
+
+A tiny spaniel, whining excitedly, was engaged in scratching with its
+paws upon the dirty floor as though determined to dig its way through.
+As the light shone upon it the dog crouched affrightedly, and, glancing
+in Seton’s direction, revealed its teeth. He saw that it was covered
+with mud from head to tail, presenting a most woe-begone appearance,
+and the mystery of its presence there came home to him forcibly.
+
+It was a toy spaniel of a breed very popular among ladies of fashion,
+and to its collar was still attached a tattered and muddy fragment of
+ribbon.
+
+The little animal crouched in a manner which unmistakably pointed to
+the fact that it apprehended ill-treatment, but these personal fears
+had only a secondary place in its mind, and with one eye on the
+intruder it continued to scratch madly at the floor.
+
+Seton acted promptly. He snapped off the light, and, replacing the lamp
+in his pocket, stepped into the building and dropped down upon his
+knees beside the dog. He next lay prone, and having rapidly cleared a
+space with his sleeve of some of the dirt which coated it, he applied
+his ear to the floor.
+
+In spite of that iron control which habitually he imposed upon himself,
+he became aware of the fact that his heart was beating rapidly. He had
+learned at Leman Street that Kerry had brought Mrs. Irvin’s dog from
+Prince’s Gate to aid in the search for the missing woman. He did not
+doubt that this was the dog which snarled and scratched excitedly
+beside him. Dimly he divined something of the truth. Kerry had fallen
+into the hands of the gang, but the dog, evidently not without
+difficulty, had escaped. What lay below the wharf?
+
+Holding his breath, he crouched, listening; but not a sound could he
+detect.
+
+“There’s nothing here, old chap,” he said to the dog.
+
+Responsive to the friendly tone, the little animal began barking loudly
+with high staccato notes, which must have been audible on the Surrey
+shore.
+
+Seton was profoundly mystified by the animal’s behavior. He had
+personally searched every foot of this particular building, and was
+confident that it afforded no hiding-place. The behavior of the dog,
+however, was susceptible of only one explanation; and Seton recognizing
+that the clue to the mystery lay somewhere within this ramshackle
+building, became seized with a conviction that he was being watched.
+
+Standing upright, he paused for a moment, irresolute, thinking that he
+had detected a muffled shriek. But the riverside noises were misleading
+and his imagination was on fire.
+
+That almost superstitious respect for the powers of Sin Sin Wa, which
+had led Chief Inspector Kerry to look upon the Chinaman as a being more
+than humanly endowed, began to take possession of Seton Pasha. He
+regretted having entered the place so overtly, he regretted having
+shown a light. Keen eyes, vigilant, regarded him. It was perhaps a
+delusion, bred of the mournful night sounds, the gloom, and the uncanny
+resourcefulness, already proven, of the Kazmah group. But it operated
+powerfully.
+
+Theories, wild, improbable, flocked to his mind. The great dope cache
+lay beneath his feet—and there must be some hidden entrance to it which
+had escaped the attention of the search-party. This in itself was not
+improbable, since they had devoted no more time to this building than
+to any other in the vicinity. That wild cry in the night which had
+struck so mournful a chill to the hearts of the watchers on the river
+had seemed to come out of the void of the blackness, had given but
+slight clue to the location of the place of captivity. Indeed, they
+could only surmise that it had been uttered by the missing woman. Yet
+in their hearts neither had doubted it.
+
+He determined to cause the place to be searched again, as secretly as
+possible; he determined to set so close a guard over it and over its
+approaches that none could enter or leave unobserved.
+
+Yet Kismet, in whose omnipotence he more than half believed, had
+ordained otherwise; for man is merely an instrument in the hand of
+Fate.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XL.
+COIL OF THE PIGTAIL
+
+
+The inner room was in darkness and the fume-laden air almost
+unbreathable. A dull and regular moaning sound proceeded from the
+corner where the bed was situated, but of the contents of the place and
+of its other occupant or occupants Kerry had no more than a hazy idea.
+His imagination supplied those details which he had failed to observe.
+Mrs. Monte Irvin, in a dying condition, lay upon the bed, and someone
+or some _thing_ crouched on the divan behind Kerry as he lay stretched
+upon the matting-covered floor. His wrists, tied behind him, gave him
+great pain; and since his ankles were also fastened and the end of the
+rope drawn taut and attached to that binding his wrists, he was
+rendered absolutely helpless. For one of his fiery temperament this
+physical impotence was maddening, and because his own handkerchief had
+been tied tightly around his head so as to secure between his teeth a
+wooden stopper of considerable size which possessed an unpleasant
+chemical taste and smell, even speech was denied him.
+
+How long he had lain thus he had no means of judging accurately; but
+hours—long, maddening hours—seemed to have passed since, with the
+muzzle of Sin Sin Wa’s Mauser pressed coldly to his ear, he had
+submitted willy-nilly to the adroit manipulations of Mrs. Sin. At first
+he had believed, in his confirmed masculine vanity, that it would be a
+simple matter to extricate himself from the fastenings made by a woman;
+but when, rolling him sideways, she had drawn back his heels and run
+the loose end of the line through the loop formed by the lashing of his
+wrists behind him, he had recognized a Chinese training, and had
+resigned himself to the inevitable. The wooden gag was a sore trial,
+and if it had not broken his spirit it had nearly caused him to break
+an artery in his impotent fury.
+
+Into the darkened inner chamber Sin Sin Wa had dragged him, and there
+Kerry had lain ever since, listening to the various sounds of the
+place, to the coarse voice, often raised in anger, of the Cuban-Jewess,
+to the crooning tones of the imperturbable Chinaman. The incessant
+moaning of the woman on the bed sometimes became mingled with another
+sound more remote, which Kerry for long failed to identify; but
+ultimately he concluded it to be occasioned by the tide flowing under
+the wharf. The raven was silent, because, imprisoned in his wicker
+cage, he had been placed in some dark spot below the counter. Very
+dimly from time to time a steam siren might be heard upon the river,
+and once the thudding of a screw-propeller told of the passage of a
+large vessel along Limehouse Reach.
+
+In the eyes of Mrs. Sin Kerry had read menace, and for all their dark
+beauty they had reminded him of the eyes of a cornered rat. Beneath the
+contemptuous nonchalance which she flaunted he read terror and remorse,
+and a foreboding of doom—panic ill repressed, which made her dangerous
+as any beast at bay. The attitude of the Chinaman was more puzzling. He
+seemed to bear the Chief Inspector no personal animosity, and indeed,
+in his glittering eye, Kerry had detected a sort of mysterious light of
+understanding which was almost mirthful, but which bore no relation to
+Sin Sin Wa’s perpetual smile. Kerry’s respect for the one-eyed Chinaman
+had increased rather than diminished upon closer acquaintance.
+Underlying his urbanity he failed to trace any symptom of apprehension.
+This Sin Sin Wa, accomplice of a murderess self-confessed, evident head
+of a drug syndicate which had led to the establishment of a Home office
+inquiry—this badly “wanted” man, whose last hiding-place, whose keep,
+was closely invested by the agents of the law, was the same Sin Sin Wa
+who had smilingly extended his wrists, inviting the manacles, when
+Kerry had first made his acquaintance under circumstances legally very
+different.
+
+Sometimes Kerry could hear him singing his weird crooning song, and
+twice Mrs. Sin had shrieked blasphemous execrations at him because of
+it. But why should Sin Sin Wa sing? What hope had he of escape? In the
+case of any other criminal Kerry would have answered “None,” but the
+ease with which this one-eyed singing Chinaman had departed from his
+abode under the very noses of four detectives had shaken the Chief
+Inspector’s confidence in the efficiency of ordinary police methods
+where this Chinese conjurer was concerned. A man who could convert an
+elaborate opium house into a dirty ruin in so short a time, too, was
+capable of other miraculous feats, and it would not have surprised
+Kerry to learn that Sin Sin Wa, at a moment’s notice, could disguise
+himself as a chest of tea, or pass invisible through solid walls.
+
+For evidence that Seton Pasha or any of the men from Scotland Yard had
+penetrated to the secret of Sam Tûk’s cellar Kerry listened in vain.
+What was about to happen he could not imagine, nor if his life was to
+be spared. In the confession so curiously extorted from Mrs. Sin by her
+husband he perceived a clue to this and other mysteries, but strove in
+vain to disentangle it from the many maddening complexities of the
+case.
+
+So he mused, wearily, listening to the moaning of his fellow captive,
+and wondering, since no sign of life came thence, why he imagined
+another presence in the stuffy room or the presence of someone or of
+some _thing_ on the divan behind him. And in upon these dreary musings
+broke an altercation between Mrs. Sin and her husband.
+
+“Keep the blasted thing covered up!” she cried hoarsely.
+
+“Tling-a-Ling wantchee catchee bleathee sometime,” crooned Sin Sin Wa.
+
+“Hello, hello!” croaked the raven drowsily. “Smartest—smartest—smartest
+leg.”
+
+“You catchee sleepee, Tling-a-Ling,” murmured the Chinaman. “Mrs. Sin
+no likee you palaber, lo!”
+
+“Burn it!” cried the woman, “burn the one-eyed horror!”
+
+But when, carrying a lighted lantern, Sin Sin Wa presently came into
+the inner room, he smiled as imperturbably as ever, and was unmoved so
+far as external evidence showed.
+
+Sin Sin Wa set the lantern upon a Moorish coffee-table which once had
+stood beside the divan in Mrs. Sin’s sanctum at the House of a Hundred
+Raptures. A significant glance—its significance an acute puzzle to the
+recipient—he cast upon Chief Inspector Kerry. His hands tucked in the
+loose sleeves of his blouse, he stood looking down at the woman who lay
+moaning on the bed; and:
+
+“_Tchée, tchée_,” he crooned softly, “you hate no catchee die, my
+beautiful. You sniffee plenty too muchee ‘white snow,’ _hoi, hoi!_
+Velly bad woman tly makee you catchee die, but Sin Sin Wa no hate got
+for killee chop. Topside pidgin no good enough, lo!”
+
+His thick, extraordinary long pigtail hanging down his back and
+gleaming in the rays of the lantern, he stood, head bowed, watching
+Rita Irvin. Because of his position on the floor, Mrs. Irvin was
+invisible from Kerry’s point of view, but she continued to moan
+incessantly, and he knew that she must be unconscious of the Chinaman’s
+scrutiny.
+
+“Hurry, old fool!” came Mrs. Sin’s harsh voice from the outer room. “In
+ten minutes Ah Fung will give the signal. Is she dead yet—the
+doll-woman?”
+
+“She hate no catchee die,” murmured Sin Sin Wa, “She still vella
+beautiful—_tchée!_”
+
+It was at the moment that he spoke these words that Seton Pasha entered
+the empty building above and found the spaniel scratching at the paved
+floor. So that, as Sin Sin Wa stood looking down at the wan face of the
+unfortunate woman who refused to die, the dog above, excited by Seton’s
+presence, ceased to whine and scratch and began to bark.
+
+Faintly to the vault the sound of the high-pitched barking penetrated.
+
+Kerry tensed his muscles and groaned impotently feeling his heart
+beating like a hammer in his breast. Complete silence reigned in the
+outer room. Sin Sin Wa never stirred. Again the dog barked, then:
+
+“Hello, hello!” shrieked the raven shrilly. “Number one p’lice chop,
+lo! Sin Sin Wa! Sin Sin Wa!”
+
+There came a fierce exclamation, the sound of something being hastily
+overturned, of a scuffle, and:
+
+“Sin—Sin—Wa!” croaked the raven feebly.
+
+The words ended in a screeching cry, which was followed by a sound of
+wildly beating wings. Sin Sin Wa, hands tucked in sleeves, turned and
+walked from the inner room, closing the sliding door behind him with a
+movement of his shoulder.
+
+Resting against the empty shelves, he stood and surveyed the scene in
+the vault.
+
+Mrs. Sin, who had been kneeling beside the wicker cage, which was
+upset, was in the act of standing upright. At her feet, and not far
+from the motionless form of old Sam Tûk who sat like a dummy figure in
+his chair before the stove, lay a palpitating mass of black feathers.
+Other detached feathers were sprinkled about the floor. Feebly the
+raven’s wings beat the ground once, twice—and were still.
+
+Sin Sin Wa uttered one sibilant word, withdrew his hands from his
+sleeves, and, stepping around the end of the counter, dropped upon his
+knees beside the raven. He touched it with long yellow fingers, then
+raised it and stared into the solitary eye, now glazed and sightless as
+its fellow. The smile had gone from the face of Sin Sin Wa.
+
+“My Tling-a-Ling!” he moaned in his native mandarin tongue. “Speak to
+me, my little black friend!”
+
+A bead of blood, like a ruby, dropped from the raven’s beak. Sin Sin Wa
+bowed his head and knelt awhile in silence; then, standing up, he
+reverently laid the poor bedraggled body upon a chest. He turned and
+looked at his wife.
+
+Hands on hips, she confronted him, breathing rapidly, and her glance of
+contempt swept him up and down.
+
+“I’ve often threatened to do it,” she said in English. “Now I’ve done
+it. They’re on the wharf. We’re trapped—thanks to that black, squalling
+horror!”
+
+“_Tchée, tchée!_” hissed Sin Sin Wa.
+
+His gleaming eye fixed upon the woman unblinkingly, he began very
+deliberately to roll up his loose sleeves. She watched him, contempt in
+her glance, but her expression changed subtly, and her dark eyes grew
+narrowed. She looked rapidly towards Sam Tûk but Sam Tûk never stirred.
+
+“Old fool!” she cried at Sin Sin Wa. “What are you doing?”
+
+But Sin Sin Wa, his sleeves rolled up above his yellow, sinewy
+forearms, now tossed his pigtail, serpentine, across his shoulder and
+touched it with his fingers, an odd, caressing movement.
+
+“Ho!” laughed Mrs. Sin in her deep scoffing fashion, “it is for _me_
+you make all this bhobbery, eh? It is me you are going to chastise, my
+dear?”
+
+She flung back her head, snapping her fingers before the silent
+Chinaman. He watched her, and slowly—slowly—he began to crouch, lower
+and lower, but always that unblinking regard remained fixed upon the
+face of Mrs. Sin.
+
+The woman laughed again, more loudly. Bending her lithe body forward in
+mocking mimicry, she snapped her fingers, once—again—and again under
+Sin Sin Wa’s nose. Then:
+
+“Do you think, you blasted yellow ape, that you can frighten _me?_” she
+screamed, a swift flame of wrath lighting up her dark face.
+
+In a flash she had raised the kimona and had the stiletto in her hand.
+But, even swifter than she, Sin Sin Wa sprang...
+
+Once, twice she struck at him, and blood streamed from his left
+shoulder. But the pigtail, like an executioner’s rope, was about the
+woman’s throat. She uttered one smothered shriek, dropping the knife,
+and then was silent...
+
+Her dyed hair escaped from its fastenings and descended, a ruddy
+torrent, about her as she writhed, silent, horrible, in the death-coil
+of the pigtail.
+
+Rigidly, at arms-length, he held her, moment after moment, immovable,
+implacable; and when he read death in her empurpled face, a miraculous
+thing happened.
+
+The “blind” eye of Sin Sin Wa opened!
+
+A husky rattle told of the end, and he dropped the woman’s body from
+his steely grip, disengaging the pigtail with a swift movement of his
+head. Opening and closing his yellow fingers to restore circulation, he
+stood looking down at her. He spat upon the floor at her feet.
+
+Then, turning, he held out his arms and confronted Sam Tûk.
+
+“Was it well done, bald father of wisdom?” he demanded hoarsely.
+
+But old Sam Tûk seated lumpish in his chair like some grotesque idol
+before whom a human sacrifice has been offered up, stirred not. The
+length of loaded tubing with which he had struck Kerry lay beside him
+where it had fallen from his nerveless hand. And the two oblique, beady
+eyes of Sin Sin Wa, watching, grew dim. Step by step he approached the
+old Chinaman, stooped, touched him, then knelt and laid his head upon
+the thin knees.
+
+“Old father,” he murmured, “Old bald father who knew so much. Tonight
+you know all.”
+
+For Sam Tûk was no more. At what moment he had died, whether in the
+excitement of striking Kerry or later, no man could have presumed to
+say, since, save by an occasional nod of his head, he had often
+simulated death in life—he who was so old that he was known as “The
+Father of Chinatown.”
+
+Standing upright, Sin Sin Wa looked from the dead man to the dead
+raven. Then, tenderly raising poor Tling-a-Ling, he laid the great
+dishevelled bird—a weird offering—upon the knees of Sam Tûk.
+
+“Take him with you where you travel tonight, my father,” he said. “He,
+too, was faithful.”
+
+A cheap German clock commenced a muted clangor, for the little hammer
+was muffled.
+
+Sin Sin Wa walked slowly across to the counter. Taking up the gleaming
+joss, he unscrewed its pedestal. Then, returning to the spot where Mrs.
+Sin lay, he coolly detached a leather wallet which she wore beneath her
+dress fastened to a girdle. Next he removed her rings, her bangles and
+other ornaments. He secreted all in the interior of the joss—his
+treasure-chest. He raised his hands and began to unplait his long
+pigtail, which, like his “blind” eye, was _camouflage_—a false queue
+attached to his own hair, which he wore but slightly longer than some
+Europeans and many Americans. With a small pair of scissors he clipped
+off his long, snake-like moustaches....
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLI.
+THE FINDING OF KAZMAH
+
+
+At a point just above the sweep of Limehouse Reach a watchful river
+police patrol observed a moving speck of light on the right bank of the
+Thames. As if in answer to the signal there came a few moments later a
+second moving speck at a point not far above the district once
+notorious in its possession of Ratcliff Highway. A third light answered
+from the Surrey bank, and a fourth shone out yet higher up and on the
+opposite side of the Thames.
+
+The tide had just turned. As Chief Inspector Kerry had once observed,
+“there are no pleasure parties punting about that stretch,” and,
+consequently, when George Martin tumbled into his skiff on the Surrey
+shore and began lustily to pull up stream, he was observed almost
+immediately by the River Police.
+
+Pulling hard against the stream, it took him a long time to reach his
+destination—stone stairs near the point from which the second light had
+been shown. Rain had ceased and the mist had cleared shortly after
+dusk, as often happens at this time of year, and because the night was
+comparatively clear the pursuing boats had to be handled with care.
+
+George did not disembark at the stone steps, but after waiting there
+for some time he began to drop down on the tide, keeping close inshore.
+
+“He knows we’ve spotted him,” said Sergeant Coombes, who was in one of
+the River Police boats. “It was at the stairs that he had to pick up
+his man.”
+
+Certainly, the tactics of George suggested that he had recognized
+surveillance, and, his purpose abandoned, now sought to efface himself
+without delay. Taking advantage of every shadow, he resigned his boat
+to the gentle current. He had actually come to the entrance of
+Greenwich Reach when a dock light, shining out across the river,
+outlined the boat yellowly.
+
+“He’s got a passenger!” said Coombes amazedly.
+
+Inspector White, who was in charge of the cutter, rested his arm on
+Coombes’ shoulder and stared across the moving tide.
+
+“I can see no one,” he replied. “You’re over anxious,
+Detective-Sergeant—and I can understand it!”
+
+Coombes smiled heroically.
+
+“I may be over anxious, Inspector,” he replied, “but if _I_ lost Sin
+Sin Wa, the River Police had never even _heard_ of him till the C.I.D.
+put ’em wise.”
+
+“H’m!” muttered the Inspector. “D’you suggest we board him?”
+
+“No,” said Coombes, “let him land, but don’t trouble to hide any more.
+Show him we’re in pursuit.”
+
+No longer drifting with the outgoing tide, George Martin had now boldly
+taken to the oars. The River Police boat close in his wake, he headed
+for the blunt promontory of the Isle of Dogs. The grim pursuit went on
+until:
+
+“I bet I know where he’s for,” said Coombes.
+
+“So do I,” declared Inspector White; “Dougal’s!”
+
+Their anticipations were realized. To the wooden stairs which served as
+a water-gate for the establishment on the Isle of Dogs, George Martin
+ran in openly; the police boat followed, and:
+
+“You were right!” cried the Inspector, “he has somebody with him!”
+
+A furtive figure, bearing a burden upon its shoulder, moved up the
+slope and disappeared. A moment later the police were leaping ashore.
+George deserted his boat and went running heavily after his passenger.
+
+“After them!” cried Coombes. “That’s _Sin Sin Wa!_”
+
+Around the mazey, rubbish-strewn paths the pursuit went hotly. In sight
+of Dougal’s Coombes saw the swing door open and a silhouette—that of a
+man who carried a bag on his shoulder—pass in. George Martin followed,
+but the Scotland Yard man had his hand upon his shoulder.
+
+“Police!” he said sharply. “Who’s your friend?”
+
+George turned, red and truculent, with clenched fists.
+
+“Mind your own bloody business!” he roared.
+
+“Mind yours, my lad!” retorted Coombes warningly. “You’re no Thames
+waterman. Who’s your friend?”
+
+“Wotcher mean?” shouted George. “You’re up the pole or canned you are!”
+
+“Grab him!” said Coombes, and he kicked open the door and entered the
+saloon, followed by Inspector White and the boat’s crew.
+
+As they appeared, the Inspector conspicuous in his uniform, backed by
+the group of River Police, one of whom grasped George Martin by his
+coat collar:
+
+“_Splits!_” bellowed Dougal in a voice like a fog-horn.
+
+Twenty cups of tea, coffee and cocoa, too hot for speedy assimilation,
+were spilled upon the floor.
+
+The place as usual was crowded, more particularly in the neighborhood
+of the two stoves. Here were dock laborers, seamen and riverside
+loafers, lascars, Chinese, Arabs, negroes and dagoes. Mrs. Dougal,
+defiant and red, brawny arms folded and her pose as that of one
+contemplating a physical contest, glared from behind the “solid”
+counter. Dougal rested his hairy hands upon the “wet” counter and
+revealed his defective teeth in a vicious snarl. Many of the patrons
+carried light baggage, since a P and O boat, an oriental, and the _S.
+S. Mahratta_, were sailing that night or in the early morning, and
+Dougal’s was the favorite house of call for a _doch-an-dorrich_ for
+sailormen, particularly for sailormen of color.
+
+Upon the police group became focussed the glances of light eyes and
+dark eyes, round eyes, almond-shaped eyes, and oblique eyes. Silence
+fell.
+
+“We are police officers,” called Coombes formally. “All papers,
+please.”
+
+Thereupon, without disturbance, the inspection began, and among the
+papers scrutinized were those of one, Chung Chow, an able-bodied
+Chinese seaman. But since his papers were in order, and since he
+possessed two eyes and wore no pigtail, he excited no more interest in
+the mind of Detective-Sergeant Coombes than did any one of the other
+Chinamen in the place.
+
+A careful search of the premises led to no better result, and George
+Martin accounted for his possession of a considerable sum of money
+found upon him by explaining that he had recently been paid off after a
+long voyage and had been lucky at cards.
+
+The result of the night’s traffic, then, spelled failure for British
+justice, the S.S. _Mahratta_ sailed one stewardess short of her
+complement; but among the Chinese crew of another steamer Eastward
+bound was one, Chung Chow, formerly known as Sin Sin Wa. And sometimes
+in the night watches there arose before him the picture of a black bird
+resting upon the knees of an aged Chinaman. Beyond these figures dimly
+he perceived the paddy-fields of Ho-Nan and the sweeping valley of the
+Yellow River, where the opium poppy grows.
+
+It was about an hour before the sailing of the ship which numbered
+Chung Chow among the yellow members of its crew that Seton Pasha
+returned once more to the deserted wharf whereon he had found Mrs.
+Monte Irvin’s spaniel. Afterwards, in the light of ascertained facts,
+he condemned himself for a stupidity passing the ordinary. For while he
+had conducted a careful search of the wharf and adjoining premises,
+convinced that there was a cellar of some kind below, he had omitted to
+look for a water-gate to this hypothetical cache.
+
+Perhaps his self-condemnation was deserved, but in justice to the agent
+selected by Lord Wrexborough, it should be added that Chief Inspector
+Kerry had no more idea of the existence of such an entrance, and exit,
+than had Seton Pasha.
+
+Leaving the dog at Leman Street then, and learning that there was no
+news of the missing Chief Inspector, Seton had set out once more. He
+had been informed of the mysterious signals flashed from side to side
+of the Lower Pool, and was hourly expecting a report to the effect that
+Sin Sin Wa had been apprehended in the act of escaping. That Sin Sin Wa
+had dropped into the turgid tide from his underground hiding-place, and
+pushing his property—which was floatable—before him, encased in a
+waterproof bag, had swum out and clung to the stern of George Martin’s
+boat as it passed close to the empty wharf, neither Seton Pasha nor any
+other man knew—except George Martin and Sin Sin Wa.
+
+At a suitably dark spot the Chinaman had boarded the little craft, not
+without difficulty, for his wounded shoulder pained him, and had
+changed his sodden attire for a dry outfit which awaited him in the
+locker at the stern of the skiff. The cunning of the Chinese has the
+simplicity of true genius.
+
+Not two paces had Seton taken on to the mystifying wharf when:
+
+“Sam Tûk barber! Entrance in cellar!” rapped a ghostly, muffled voice
+from beneath his feet. “Sam Tûk barber! Entrance in cellar!”
+
+Seton Pasha stood still, temporarily bereft of speech. Then, “_Kerry!_”
+he cried. “Kerry! Where are you?”
+
+But apparently his voice failed to reach the invisible speaker, for:
+
+“Sam Tûk barber! Entrance in cellar!” repeated the voice.
+
+Seton Pasha wasted no more time. He ran out into the narrow street. A
+man was on duty there.
+
+“Call assistance!” ordered Seton briskly, “Send four men to join me at
+the barber’s shop called Sam Tûk’s! You know it?”
+
+“Yes, sir; I searched it with Chief Inspector Kerry.”
+
+The note of a police whistle followed.
+
+Ten minutes later the secret of Sam Tûk’s cellar was unmasked. The
+place was empty, and the subterranean door locked; but it succumbed to
+the persistent attacks of axe and crowbar, and Seton Pasha was the
+first of the party to enter the vault. It was laden with chemical
+fumes....
+
+He found there an aged Chinaman, dead, seated by a stove in which the
+fire had burned very low. Sprawling across the old man’s knees was the
+body of a raven. Lying at his feet was a woman, lithe, contorted, the
+face half hidden in masses of bright red hair.
+
+“End case near the door!” rapped the voice of Kerry. “Slides to the
+left!”
+
+Seton Pasha vaulted over the counter, drew the shelves aside, and
+entered the inner room.
+
+By the dim light of a lantern burning upon a moorish coffee-table he
+discerned an untidy bed, upon which a second woman lay, pallid.
+
+“God!” he muttered; “this place is a morgue!”
+
+“It certainly isn’t healthy!” said an irritable voice from the floor.
+“But I think I might survive it if you could spare a second to untie
+me.”
+
+Kerry’s extensive practice in chewing and the enormous development of
+his maxillary muscles had stood him in good stead. His keen, strong
+teeth had bitten through the extemporized gag, and as a result the
+tension of the handkerchief which had held it in place had become
+relaxed, enabling him to rid himself of it and to spit out the
+fragments of filthy-tasting wood which the biting operation had left in
+his mouth.
+
+Seton turned, stooped on one knee to release the captive... and found
+himself looking into the face of someone who sat crouched upon the
+divan behind the Chief Inspector. The figure was that of an oriental,
+richly robed. Long, slim, ivory hands rested upon his knees, and on the
+first finger of the right hand gleamed a big talismanic ring. But the
+face, surmounted by a white turban, was wonderful, arresting in its
+immobile intellectual beauty; and from under the heavy brows a pair of
+abnormally large eyes looked out hypnotically.
+
+“My God!” whispered Seton, then:
+
+“If you’ve finished your short prayer,” rapped Kerry, “set about _my_
+little job.”
+
+“But, Kerry—Kerry, behind you!”
+
+“I haven’t any eyes in my back hair!”
+
+Mechanically, half fearfully, Seton touched the hands of the crouching
+oriental. A low moan came from the woman in the bed, and:
+
+“It’s _Kazmah!_” gasped Seton. “Kerry... Kazmah is—a _wax figure!_”
+
+“Hell!” said Chief Inspector Kerry.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLII.
+A YEAR LATER
+
+
+Beneath an awning spread above the balcony of one of those modern
+elegant flats, which today characterize Heliopolis, the City of the
+Sun, site of perhaps the most ancient seat of learning in the known
+world, a party of four was gathered, awaiting the unique spectacle
+which is afforded when the sun’s dying rays fade from the Libyan sands
+and the violet wonder of the afterglow conjures up old magical Egypt
+from the ashes of the desert.
+
+“Yes,” Monte Irvin was saying, “only a year ago; but, thank God, it
+seems more like ten! Merciful time effaces sadness but spares joy.”
+
+He turned to his wife, whose flower-like face peeped out from a nest of
+white fur. Covertly he squeezed her hand, and was rewarded with a
+swift, half coquettish glance, in which he read trust and contentment.
+The dreadful ordeal through which she had passed had accomplished that
+which no physician in Europe could have hoped for, since no physician
+would have dared to adopt such drastic measures. Actuated by deliberate
+cruelty, and with the design of bringing about her death from
+apparently natural causes, the Kazmah group had deprived her of cocaine
+for so long a period that sanity, life itself, had barely survived; but
+for so long a period that, surviving, she had outlived the drug
+craving. Kazmah had cured her!
+
+Monte Irvin turned to the tall fair girl who sat upon the arm of a cane
+rest-chair beside Rita.
+
+“But nothing can ever efface the memory of all you have done for Rita,
+and for me,” he said, “nothing, Mrs. Seton.”
+
+“Oh,” said Margaret, “my mind was away back, and that sounded—so odd.”
+
+Seton Pasha, who occupied the lounge-chair upon the broad arm of which
+his wife was seated, looked up, smiling into the suddenly flushed face.
+They were but newly returned from their honeymoon, and had just taken
+possession of their home, for Seton was now stationed in Cairo. He
+flicked a cone of ash from his cheroot.
+
+“It seems to me that we are all more or less indebted to one another,”
+he declared. “For instance, I might never have met you, Margaret, if I
+had not run into your cousin that eventful night at Princes; and Gray
+would not have been gazing abstractedly out of the doorway if Mrs.
+Irvin had joined him for dinner as arranged. One can trace almost every
+episode in life right back, and ultimately come—”
+
+“To Kismet!” cried his wife, laughing merrily. “So before we begin
+dinner tonight—which is a night of reunion—I am going to propose a
+toast to Kismet!”
+
+“Good!” said Seton, “we shall all drink it gladly. Eh, Irvin?”
+
+“Gladly, indeed,” agreed Monte Irvin. “You know, Seton,” he continued,
+“we have been wandering, Rita and I; and ever since your wife handed
+her patient over to me as cured we have covered some territory. I don’t
+know if you or Chief Inspector Kerry has been responsible, but the
+press accounts of the Kazmah affair have been scanty to baldness. One
+stray bit of news reached us—in Colorado, I think.”
+
+“What was that, Mr. Irvin?” asked Margaret, leaning towards the
+speaker.
+
+“It was about Mollie Gretna. Someone wrote and told me that she had
+eloped with a billiard marker—a married man with five children!”
+
+Seton laughed heartily, and so did Margaret and Rita.
+
+“Right!” cried Seton. “She did. When last heard of she was acting as
+barmaid in a Portsmouth tavern!”
+
+But Monte Irvin did not laugh.
+
+“Poor, foolish girl!” he said gravely. “Her life might have been so
+different—so useful and happy.”
+
+“I agree,” replied Seton, “if she had had a husband like Kerry.”
+
+“Oh, please don’t!” said Margaret. “I almost fell in love with Chief
+Inspector Kerry myself.”
+
+“A grand fellow!” declared her husband warmly. “The Kazmah inquiry was
+the triumph of his career.”
+
+Monte Irvin turned to him.
+
+“_You_ did your bit, Seton,” he said quietly. “The last words Inspector
+Kerry spoke to me before I left England were in the nature of a
+splendid tribute to yourself, but I will spare your blushes.”
+
+“Kerry is as white as they’re made,” replied Seton, “but we should
+never have known for certain who killed Sir Lucien if he had not risked
+his life in that filthy cellar as he did.”
+
+Rita Irvin shuddered slightly and drew her furs more closely about her
+shoulders.
+
+“Shall we change the conversation, dear?” whispered Margaret.
+
+“No, please,” said Rita. “You cannot imagine how curious I am to learn
+the true details—for, as Monte says, we have been out of touch with
+things, and although we were so intimately concerned, neither of us
+really knows the inner history of the affair to this day. Of course, we
+know that Kazmah was a dummy figure, posed in the big ebony chair. He
+never moved, except to raise his hand, and this was done by someone
+seated in the inner room behind the figure. But _who_ was seated
+there?”
+
+Seton glanced inquiringly at his wife, and she nodded, smiling.
+
+“Right-o!” he said. “If you will excuse me for a moment I will get my
+notes. Hello, here’s Gray!”
+
+A little two-seater came bowling along the road from Cairo, and drew up
+beneath the balcony. It was the car which had belonged to Margaret when
+in practice in Dover Street. Quentin Gray jumped out, waving his hand
+cheerily to the quartette above, and went in at the doorway. Seton
+walked through the flat and admitted him.
+
+“Sorry I’m late!” cried Gray, impetuous and boyish as ever, although he
+looked older and had grown very bronzed. “The chief detained me.”
+
+“Go through to them,” said Seton informally. “I’m getting my notes;
+we’re going to read the thrilling story of the Kazmah mystery before
+dinner.”
+
+“Good enough!” cried Gray. “I’m in the dark on many points.”
+
+He had outlived his youthful infatuation, although it was probable
+enough that had Rita been free he would have presented himself as a
+suitor without delay. But the old relationship he had no desire to
+renew. A generous self-effacing regard had supplanted the madness of
+his earlier passion. Rita had changed too; she had learned to know
+herself and to know her husband.
+
+So that when Seton Pasha presently rejoined his guests, he found the
+most complete harmony to prevail among them. He carried a bulky
+notebook, and, tapping his teeth with his monocle:
+
+“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began whimsically, “I will bore you with a
+brief account of the extraordinary facts concerning the Kazmah case.”
+
+Margaret was seated in the rest-chair which her husband had vacated,
+and Seton took up a position upon the ledge formed by one of the wide
+arms. Everyone prepared to listen, with interest undisguised.
+
+“There were three outstanding personalities dominating what we may term
+the Kazmah group,” continued Seton. “In order of importance they were:
+Sin Sin Wa, Sir Lucien Pyne and Mrs. Sin.”
+
+Rita Irvin inhaled deeply, but did not interrupt the speaker.
+
+“I shall begin with Sir Lucien,” Seton went on. “For some years before
+his father’s death he seems to have lived a very shady life in many
+parts of the world. He was a confirmed gambler, and was also somewhat
+unduly fond of the ladies’ society. In Buenos Ayres—the exact date does
+not matter—he made the acquaintance of a variety artiste known as La
+Belle Lola, a Cuban-Jewess, good-looking and unscrupulous. I cannot say
+if Sir Lucien was aware from the outset of his affair with La Belle
+that she was a married woman. But it is certain that her husband, Sin
+Sin Wa, very early learned of the intrigue, and condoned it.
+
+“How Sir Lucien came to get into the clutches of the pair I do not
+know. But that he did so we have ascertained beyond doubt. I think,
+personally, that his third vice—opium—was probably responsible. For Sin
+Sin Wa appears throughout in the character of a drug dealer.
+
+“These three people really become interesting from the time that La
+Belle Lola quitted the stage and joined her husband in the conducting
+of a concern in Buenos Ayres, which was the parent, if I may use the
+term, of the Kazmah business later established in Bond Street. From a
+music-hall illusionist, who came to grief during a South American tour,
+they acquired the oriental waxwork figure which subsequently mystified
+so many thousands of dupes. It was the work of a famous French artist
+in wax, and had originally been made to represent the Pharaoh, Rameses
+II., for a Paris exhibition. Attired in Eastern robes, and worked by a
+simple device which raised and lowered the right hand, it was used,
+firstly, in a stage performance, and secondly, in the character of
+‘Kazmah the Dream-reader.’
+
+“Even at this time Sir Lucien had access to good society, or to the
+best society which Buenos Ayres could offer, and he was the source of
+the surprising revelations made to patrons by the ‘dream-reader.’ At
+first, apparently, the drug business was conducted independently of the
+Kazmah concern, but the facilities offered by the latter for masking
+the former soon became apparent to the wily Sin Sin Wa. Thereupon the
+affair was reorganized on the lines later adopted in Bond Street.
+Kazmah’s became a secret dope-shop, and annexed to it was an elaborate
+_chandu-khân_, conducted by the Chinaman. Mrs. Sin was the go-between.
+
+“You are all waiting to hear—or, to be exact, two are waiting to hear,
+Gray and Margaret already know—who spoke as Kazmah through the little
+window behind the chair. The deep-voiced speaker was Juan Mareno, Mrs.
+Sin’s brother! Mrs. Sin’s maiden name was Lola Mareno.
+
+“Many of these details were provided by Mareno, who, after the death of
+his sister, to whom he was deeply attached, volunteered to give crown
+evidence. Most of them we have confirmed from other sources.
+
+“Behold ‘Kazmah the dream-reader,’ then, established in Buenos Ayres.
+The partners in the enterprise speedily acquired considerable wealth.
+Sir Lucien—at this time plain Mr. Pyne—several times came home and
+lived in London and elsewhere like a millionaire. There is no doubt, I
+think, that he was seeking a suitable opportunity to establish a London
+branch of the business.”
+
+“My God!” said Monte Irvin. “How horrible it seems!”
+
+“Horrible, indeed!” agreed Seton. “But there are two features of the
+case which, in justice to Sir Lucien, we should not overlook. He, who
+had been a poor man, had become a wealthy one and had tasted the sweets
+of wealth; also he was now hopelessly in the toils of the woman Lola.
+
+“With the ingenious financial details of the concern, which were
+conducted in the style of the ‘Jose Santos Company,’ I need not trouble
+you now. We come to the second period, when the flat in Albemarle
+Street and the two offices in old Bond Street became vacant and were
+promptly leased by Mareno, acting on Sir Lucien’s behalf, and calling
+himself sometimes Mr. Isaacs, sometimes Mr. Jacobs, and at other times
+merely posing as a representative of the Jose Santos Company in some
+other name.
+
+“All went well. The concern had ample capital, and was organized by
+clever people. Sin Sin Wa took up new quarters in Limehouse; they had
+actually bought half the houses in one entire street as well as a
+wharf! And Sin Sin Wa brought with him the good-will of an illicit drug
+business which already had almost assumed the dimensions of a control.
+
+“Sir Lucien’s household was a mere bluff. He rarely entertained at
+home, and lived himself entirely at restaurants and clubs. The private
+entrance to the Kazmah house of business was the back window of the
+Cubanis Cigarette Company’s office. From thence down the back stair to
+Kazmah’s door it was a simple matter for Mareno to pass unobserved. Sir
+Lucien resumed his rôle of private inquiry agent, and Mareno recited
+the ‘revelations’ from notes supplied to him.
+
+“But the ‘dream reading’ part of the business was merely carried on to
+mask the really profitable side of the concern. We have recently
+learned that drugs were distributed from that one office alone to the
+amount of thirty thousand pounds’ worth annually! This is excluding the
+profits of the House of a Hundred Raptures and of the private _chandu_
+orgies organized by Mrs. Sin.
+
+“The Kazmah group gradually acquired control of the entire market, and
+we know for a fact that at one period during the war they were actually
+supplying smuggled cocaine, indirectly, to no fewer than twelve
+R.A.M.C. hospitals! The complete ramifications of the system we shall
+never know.
+
+“I come, now, to the tragedy, or series of tragedies, which brought
+about the collapse of the most ingenious criminal organization which
+has ever flourished, probably, in any community. I will dare to be
+frank. Sir Lucien was the victim of a woman’s jealousy. Am I to
+proceed?”
+
+Seton paused, glancing at his audience; and:
+
+“If you please,” whispered Rita. “Monte knows and I know—why—she killed
+him. But we don’t know—”
+
+“The nasty details,” said Quentin Gray. “Carry on, Seton. Are you
+agreeable, Irvin?”
+
+“I am anxious to know,” replied Irvin, “for I believe Sir Lucien
+deserved well of me, bad as he was.”
+
+Seton clapped his hands, and an Egyptian servant appeared, silently and
+mysteriously as is the way of his class.
+
+“Cocktails, Mahmoud!”
+
+The Egyptian disappeared.
+
+“There’s just time,” declared Margaret, gazing out across the prospect,
+“before sunset.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIII.
+THE STORY OF THE CRIME
+
+
+“You are all aware,” Seton continued, “that Sir Lucien Pyne was an
+admirer of Mrs. Irvin. God knows, I hold no brief for the man, but this
+love of his was the one redeeming feature of a bad life. How and when
+it began I don’t profess to know, but it became the only pure thing
+which he possessed. That he was instrumental in introducing you, Mrs.
+Irvin, to the unfortunately prevalent drug habit, you will not deny;
+but that he afterwards tried sincerely to redeem you from it I can
+positively affirm. In seeking your redemption he found his own, for I
+know that he was engaged at the time of his death in extricating
+himself from the group. You may say that he had made a fortune, and was
+satisfied; that is _your_ view, Gray. I prefer to think that he was
+anxious to begin a new life and to make himself more worthy of the
+respect of those he loved.
+
+“There was one obstacle which proved too great for him—Mrs. Sin.
+Although Juan Mareno was the spokesman of the group, Lola Mareno was
+the prompter. All Sir Lucien’s plans for weaning Mrs. Irvin from the
+habits which she had acquired were deliberately and malignantly foiled
+by this woman. She endeavored to inveigle Mrs. Irvin into indebtedness
+to you, Gray, as you know now. Failing in this, she endeavored to kill
+her by depriving her of that which had at the time become practically
+indispensable. A venomous jealousy led her to almost suicidal measures.
+She risked exposure and ruin in her endeavors to dispose of one whom
+she looked upon as a rival.
+
+“During Sir Lucien’s several absences from London she was particularly
+active, and this brings me to the closing scene of the drama. On the
+night that you determined, in desperation, Mrs. Irvin, to see Kazmah
+personally, you will recall that Sir Lucien went out to telephone to
+him?”
+
+Rita nodded but did not speak.
+
+“Actually,” Seton explained, “he instructed Mareno to go across the
+leads to Kazmah’s directly you had left the flat, and to give you a
+certain message as ‘Kazmah.’ He also instructed Mareno to telephone
+certain orders to Rashîd, the Egyptian attendant. In spite of the
+unforeseen meeting with Gray, all would have gone well, no doubt, if
+Mrs. Sin had not chanced to be on the Kazmah premises at the time that
+the message was received!
+
+“I need not say that Mrs. Sin was a remarkable woman, possessing many
+accomplishments, among them that of mimicry. She had often amused
+herself by taking Mareno’s place at the table behind Kazmah, and,
+speaking in her brother’s oracular voice, had delivered the
+‘revelations.’ Mareno was like wax in his sister’s hands, and on this
+fateful night, when he arrived at the place—which he did a few minutes
+before Mrs. Irvin, Gray and Sir Lucien—Mrs. Sin peremptorily ordered
+him to wait upstairs in the Cubanis office, and _she_ took her seat in
+the room from which the Kazmah illusions were controlled.
+
+“So carefully arranged was every detail of the business that Rashîd,
+the Egyptian, was ignorant of Sir Lucien’s official connection with the
+Kazmah concern. He had been ordered—by Mareno speaking from Sir
+Lucien’s flat—to admit Mrs. Irvin to the room of seance and then to go
+home. He obeyed and departed, leaving Sir Lucien in the waiting-room.
+
+“Driven to desperation by ‘Kazmah’s’ taunting words, we know that Mrs.
+Irvin penetrated to the inner room. I must slur over the details of the
+scene which ensued. Hearing her cry out, Sir Lucien ran to her
+assistance. Mrs. Sin, enraged by his manner, lost all control of her
+insane passion. She attempted Mrs. Irvin’s life with a stiletto which
+habitually she carried—and Sir Lucien died like a gentleman who had
+lived like a blackguard. He shielded her—”
+
+Seton paused. Margaret was biting her lip hard, and Rita was looking
+down so that her face could not be seen.
+
+“The shock consequent upon the deed sobered the half crazy woman,”
+continued the speaker. “Her usual resourcefulness returned to her.
+Self-preservation had to be considered before remorse. Mrs. Irvin had
+swooned, and”—he hesitated—“Mrs. Sin saw to it that she did not revive
+prematurely. Mareno was summoned from the room above. The outer door
+was locked.
+
+“It affords evidence of this woman’s callous coolness that she removed
+from the Kazmah premises, and—probably assisted by her brother,
+although he denies it—from the person and garments of the dead man,
+every scrap of evidence. They had not by any means finished the task
+when _you_ knocked at the door, Gray. But they completed it,
+faultlessly, after you had gone.
+
+“Their unconscious victim, and the figure of Kazmah, as well as every
+paper or other possible clue, they carried up to the Cubanis office,
+and from thence across the roof to Sir Lucien’s study. Next, while
+Mareno went for the car, Mrs. Sin rifled the safe, bureaus and desks in
+Sir Lucien’s flat, so that we had the devil’s own work, as you know, to
+find out even the more simple facts of his everyday life.
+
+“Not a soul ever came forward who noticed the big car being driven into
+Albemarle Street or who observed it outside the flat. The chances run
+by the pair in conveying their several strange burdens from the top
+floor, down the stairs and out into the street were extraordinary. Yet
+they succeeded unobserved. Of course, the street was imperfectly
+lighted, and is but little frequented after dusk.
+
+“The journey to Limehouse was performed without discovery—aided, no
+doubt, by the mistiness of the night; and Mareno, returning to the West
+End, ingeniously inquired for Sir Lucien at his club. Learning,
+although he knew it already, that Sir Lucien had not been to the club
+that night, he returned the car to the garage and calmly went back to
+the flat.
+
+“His reason for taking this dangerous step is by no means clear.
+According to his own account, he did it to gain time for the fugitive
+Mrs. Sin. You see, there was really only one witness of the crime (Mrs.
+Irvin) and she could not have sworn to the identity of the assassin.
+Rashîd was warned and presumably supplied with sufficient funds to
+enable him to leave the country.
+
+“Well, the woman met her deserts, no doubt at the hands of Sin Sin Wa.
+Kerry is sure of this. And Sin Sin Wa escaped, taking with him an
+enormous sum of ready money. He was the true genius of the enterprise.
+No one, his wife and Mareno excepted—we know of no other—suspected that
+the real Sin Sin Wa was clean-shaven, possessed two eyes, and no
+pigtail! A wonderfully clever man!”
+
+The native servant appeared to announce that dinner was served; African
+dusk drew its swift curtain over the desert, and a gun spoke sharply
+from the Citadel. In silence the party watched the deepening velvet of
+the sky, witnessing the birth of a million stars, and in silence they
+entered the gaily lighted dining-room.
+
+Seton Pasha moved one of the lights so as to illuminate a small oil
+painting which hung above the sideboard. It represented the head and
+shoulders of a savage-looking red man, his hair close-cropped like that
+of a pugilist, and his moustache trimmed in such a fashion that a row
+of large, fierce teeth were revealed in an expression which might have
+been meant for a smile. A pair of intolerant steel-blue eyes looked
+squarely out at the spectator.
+
+“What a time I had,” said Seton, “to get him to sit for that! But I
+managed to secure his wife’s support, and the trick was done. _You_ are
+down to toast Kismet, Margaret, but I am going to propose the health,
+long life and prosperity of Chief Inspector Kerry, of the Criminal
+Investigation Department.”
+
+
+
+
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