Dope

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"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:

Lord Wrexborough
Great Cumberland Place, V. 1
"To introduce 719. W."

"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 Rashid 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."

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