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: