Kerry experienced a quickening of the pulse. In the failure of the C.I.D. to trace the abode of the notorious Mrs. Sin he had suspected double-dealing. He counted it unbelievable that a figure so conspicuous in certain circles could evade official quest even for forty-eight hours. K Division’s explanation, too, that there were no less than eighty Chinamen resident in and about Limehouse whose names either began or ended with Sin, he looked upon as a paltry evasion. That very morning he had awakened from a species of nightmare wherein 719 had affected the arrest of Kazmah and Mrs. Sin and had rescued Mrs. Irvin from the clutches of the former. Now—here was hope. 719 would seem to be as hopelessly in the dark as everybody else. “You refused?” he rapped. “Of course I did, Inspector,” said Mollie, with a timid, tender glance. “I thought you were the proper person to tell.” “Then you know?” asked Kerry, unable to conceal his eagerness. “Yes,” sighed Mollie. “Unfortunately—I know. Oh Inspector, how can I explain it to you?” “Don’t trouble, miss. Just give me the address and I’ll ask no questions!” His keenness was thrilling, infectious. As a result of the night’s “beating” he had a list of some twenty names whose owners might have been patrons of Kazmah and some of whom might know Mrs. Sin. But he had learned from bitter experience how difficult it was to induce such people to give useful evidence. There was practically no means of forcing them to speak if they chose, from selfish motives, to be silent. They could be forced to appear in court, but anything elicited in public was worse than useless. Furthermore, Kerry could not afford to wait. Mollie replied excitedly: “Oh, Inspector, I know you will think me simply an appalling person when I tell you; but I have been to Mrs. Sin’s house—‘The House of a Hundred Raptures’ she calls it—” “Yes, yes! But—the address?” “However can I tell you the address, Inspector? I could drive you there, but I haven’t the very haziest idea of the name of the horrible street! One drives along dreadful roads where there are stalls and Jews for quite an interminable time, and then over a sort of canal, and then round to the right all among ships and horrid Chinamen. Then, there is a doorway in a little court, and Mrs. Sin’s husband sits inside a smelly room with a positively ferocious raven who shrieks about legs and policemen! Oh! Can I ever forget it!” “One moment, miss, one moment,” said Kerry, keeping an iron control upon himself. “What is the name of Mrs. Sin’s husband?” “Oh, let me think! I can always remember it by recalling the croak of the raven.” She raised one hand to her brow, posing reflectively, and began to murmur: “Sin Sin Ah... Sin Sin Jar... Sin Sin—Oh! I have it! Sin Sin _Wa!_” “Good!” rapped Kerry, and made a note on the block. “Sin Sin _Wa_, and he has a pet raven, you say, who talks?” “Who positively talks like some horrid old woman!” cried Mollie. “He has only one eye.” “The raven?”