“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.”