“I suppose so,” replied Margaret. “I am afraid I am dreadfully ignorant of such matters. It might depend upon whether you spoke to a high official or to a subordinate one; an ordinary policeman for instance. But the Home office agent has nothing whatever to do with Scotland Yard.” Mollie stood up in order to reach an ash-tray, and: “I really don’t think I have anything to say, Miss Halley,” she declared. “I have certainly met Mrs. Sin, but I know nothing whatever about her, except that I believe she is a Jewess.” Margaret sighed, looking up wistfully into Mollie’s face. “Are you quite sure?” she pleaded. “Oh, Miss Gretna, if you know anything—anything—don’t hide it now. It may mean so much.” “Oh, I quite understand that,” cried Mollie. “My heart simply aches and aches when I think of poor, sweet little Rita. But—really I don’t think I can be of the least tiny bit of use.” Their glances met, and Margaret read hostility in the shallow eyes. Mollie, who had been wavering, now for some reason had become confirmed in her original determination to remain silent. Margaret stood up. “It is no good, then,” she said. “We must hope that Rita will be traced by the police. Good-bye, Miss Gretna. I am so sorry you cannot help.” “And so am I!” declared Mollie. “It is perfectly sweet of you to take such an interest, and I feel a positive _worm_. But what can I do?” As Margaret was stepping into her little runabout car, which awaited her at the door, a theory presented itself to account for Mollie’s sudden hostility. It had developed, apparently, as a result of Margaret’s reference to the Home office inquiry. Of course! Mollie would naturally be antagonistic to a commission appointed to suppress the drug traffic. Convinced that this was the correct explanation, Margaret drove away, reflecting bitterly that she had been guilty of a strategical error which it was now too late to rectify. In common with others, Kerry among them, who had come in contact with that perverted intelligence, she misjudged Mollie’s motives. In the first place, the latter had no wish to avoid publicity, and in the second place—although she sometimes wondered vaguely what she should do when her stock of drugs became exhausted—Mollie was prompted by no particular animosity toward the Home office inquiry. She had merely perceived a suitable opportunity to make the acquaintance of the fierce red Chief Inspector, and at the same time to secure notoriety for herself. Ere Margaret’s car had progressed a hundred yards from the door, Mollie was at the telephone. “City 400, please,” she said. An interval elapsed, then: “Is that the Commissioner’s office, New Scotland Yard?” she asked. A voice replied that it was. “Could you put me through to Chief Inspector Kerry?” “What name?” inquired the voice. Mollie hesitated for three seconds, and then gave her family name.