“We let Scotland Yard work night and day, and then we present our rat-faced selves to Mr. Monte Irvin and say we have ‘found the lady’ do we?” Another vigorous shake followed. “We track Chief Inspectors of the Criminal Investigation Department, do we? We do, eh? We are dirty, skulking mongrels, aren’t we? We require to be kicked from Limehouse to Paradise, don’t we?” He suddenly released Brisley. “So we shall be!” he shouted furiously. Hot upon the promise came the deed. Brisley sent up a howl of pain as Kerry’s right brogue came into violent contact with his person. The assault almost lifted him off his feet, and hatless as he was he set off, running as a man runs whose life depends upon his speed. The sound of his pattering footsteps was echoed from wall to wall of the cul-de-sac until finally it was swallowed up in the fog. Kerry stood listening for some moments, then, directing a furious kick upon the bowler which lay at his feet, he snapped off the light of the torch and pursued his way. The lesser mystery was solved, but the greater was before him. He had made a careful study of the geography of the neighborhood, and although the fog was still dense enough to be confusing, he found his way without much difficulty to the street for which he was bound. Some fifteen paces along the narrow thoroughfare he came upon someone standing by a closed door set in a high brick wall. The street contained no dwelling houses, and except for the solitary figure by the door was deserted and silent. Kerry took out his torch and shone a white ring upon the smiling countenance of Detective-Sergeant Coombes. “If that smile gets any worse,” he said irritably, “they’ll have to move your ears back. Anything to report?” “Sin Sin Wa went to bed an hour ago.” “Any visitors?” “No.” “Has he been out?” “No.” “Got the ladder?” “Yes.” “All quiet in the neighborhood?” “All quiet.” “Good.” The street in which this conversation took place was one running roughly parallel with that in which the house of Sin Sin Wa was situated. A detailed search of the Chinaman’s premises had failed to bring to light any scrap of evidence to show that opium had ever been smoked there. Of the door described by Mollie Gretna, and said to communicate with the adjoining establishment, not a trace could be found. But the fact that such a door had existed did not rest solely upon Mollie’s testimony. From one of the “beat-ups” interviewed that day, Kerry had succeeded in extracting confirmatory evidence.