“Not so far, sir,” replied Kerry, enunciating the words with characteristic swift precision, each syllable distinct as the rap of a typewriter. “Inspector Whiteleaf, of Vine Street, has questioned all constables in the Piccadilly area, and we have seen members of the staffs of many shops and offices in the neighborhood, but no one is familiar with the appearance of the missing man.” “Ah—now, the Egyptian servant?” Inspector Kerry moved his shoulders restlessly. “Rashîd is his name. Many of the people in the neighborhood knew him by sight, and at five o’clock this morning one of my assistants had the good luck to find out, from an Arab coffee-house keeper named Abdulla, where Rashîd lived. He paid a visit to the place—it’s off the West India Dock Road—half an hour later. But Rashîd had gone. I regret to report that all traces of him have been lost.” “Ah—considering this circumstance side by side with the facts that no scrap of evidence has come to light in the Kazmah premises and that the late Sir Lucien’s private books and papers cannot be found, what do you deduce, Chief Inspector?” “My report indicates what I deduce, sir! An accomplice of Kazmah’s must have been in Sir Lucien’s household! Kazmah and Mrs. Irvin can only have left the premises by going up to the roof and across the leads to Sir Lucien’s flat in Albemarle Street. I shall charge the man Juan Mareno.” “What has he to say?” murmured the Assistant Commissioner, absently turning over the pages of the notebook. “Ah, yes. ‘Claims to be a citizen of the United States but has produced no papers. Engaged by Sir Lucien Pyne in San Francisco. Professes to have no evidence to offer. Admitted Mrs. Monte Irvin to Sir Lucien’s flat on night of murder. Sir Lucien and Mrs. Irvin went out together shortly afterwards, and Sir Lucien ordered him (Mareno) to go for the car to garage in South Audley Street and drive to club, where Sir Lucien proposed to dine. Mareno claims to have followed instructions. After waiting near club for an hour, learned from hall porter that Sir Lucien had not been there that evening. Drove car back to garage and returned to Albemarle Street shortly after eight o’clock.’ H’m. Is this confirmed in any way?” Kerry’s teeth snapped together viciously. “Up to a point it is, sir. The club porter remembers Mareno inquiring about Sir Lucien, and the people at the garage testify that he took out the car and returned it as stated.” “No one has come forward who actually saw him waiting outside the club?” “No one. But unfortunately it was a dark, misty night, and cars waiting for club members stand in a narrow side turning. Mareno is a surly brute, and he might have waited an hour without speaking to a soul. Unless another chauffeur happened to notice and recognize the car nobody would be any wiser.” The Assistant Commissioner sighed, glancing up for the first time. “You don’t think he waited outside the club at all?” he said. “I don’t, sir!” rapped Kerry.