“At Kazmah’s door! What in heaven’s name does it mean?” “It means that we shall get a very poor reception if we intrude. Question the chauffeur.” But Gray had already approached the man, who touched his cap in recognition. “What’s the trouble, Pattison?” he demanded breathlessly. “I saw police in the car a moment ago.” “Yes, sir. I don’t rightly know, sir, what’s happened. But Mr. Irvin drove from home to the corner of old Bond Street a quarter of an hour ago and told me to wait, then came back again and drove round to Vine Street to fetch the police. They’re inside now.” Even as he spoke, with excitement ill-concealed, a police-sergeant came out of the doorway, and: “Move on, there,” he said to Seton and Gray. “You mustn’t hang about this door.” “Excuse me, Sergeant,” cried Gray, “but if the matter concerns Mrs. Monte Irvin I can probably supply information.” The Sergeant stared at him hard, saw that both he and his friend wore evening dress, and grew proportionately respectful. “What is your name, sir?” he asked. “I’ll mention it to the officer in charge.” “Quentin Gray. Inform Mr. Monte Irvin that I wish to speak to him.” “Very good, sir.” He turned to the chauffeur. “Hand me out the bag I gave you at Vine Street.” Pattison leaned over the door at the front of the car, and brought out a big leather grip. With this in hand the police-sergeant returned into the doorway. “We’re in for it now,” said Seton grimly, “whatever it is.” Gray returned no answer, moving restlessly up and down before the door in a fever of excitement and dread. Presently the Sergeant reappeared. “Step this way, please,” he said. Followed by Seton and Gray he led the way up to the landing before Kazmah’s apartments. It was vaguely lighted by two police-lanterns. Four men were standing there, and four pairs of eyes were focussed upon the stair-head. Monte Irvin, his features a distressing ashen color, spoke. “That you, Gray?” Quentin Gray would not have recognized the voice. “Thanks for offering your help. God knows I need all I can get. You were with Rita tonight. What happened? Where is she?” “Heaven knows where she is!” cried Gray. “I left her here with Pyne shortly after seven o’clock.” He paused, fixing his gaze upon the face of Brisley, whose shifty eyes avoided him and who was licking his lips in the manner of a dog who has seen the whip. “Why,” said Gray, “I believe you are the fellow who has been following me all night for some reason.” He stepped toward the foxy little man but: “Never mind, Gray,” interrupted Irvin. “I was to blame. But he was following my wife, not you. Tell me quickly: Why did she come here?” Gray raised his hand to his brow with a gesture of bewilderment. “To consult this man, Kazmah. I actually saw her enter the inner room, I went to get a cab, and when I returned the door was locked.” “You knocked?” “Of course. I made no end of a row. But I could get no reply and went away.”