“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?”