Dope

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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.

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