The Assistant Commissioner rested his head upon his hand again. “It doesn’t seem to be germane to your case, Chief Inspector, in any event. There is no question of an alibi. Sir Lucien’s wrist-watch was broken at seven-fifteen—evidently at the time of his death; and this man Mareno does not claim to have left the flat until after that hour.” “I know it, sir,” said Kerry. “He took out the car at half-past seven. What I want to know is where he went to!” The Assistant Commissioner glanced rapidly into the speaker’s fierce eyes. “From what you have gathered respecting the appearance of Kazmah, does it seem possible that Mareno may be Kazmah?” “It does not, sir. Kazmah has been described to me, at first hand and at second hand. All descriptions tally in one respect: Kazmah has remarkably large eyes. In Miss Halley’s evidence you will note that she refers to them as ‘larger than any human eyes I have ever seen.’ Now, Mareno has eyes like a pig!” “Then I take it you are charging him as accessory?” “Exactly, sir. Somebody got Kazmah and Mrs. Irvin away, and it can only have been Mareno. Sir Lucien had no other resident servant; he was a man who lived almost entirely at restaurants and clubs. Again, somebody cleaned up his papers, and it was somebody who knew where to look for them.” “Quite so—quite so,” murmured the Assistant Commissioner. “Of course, we shall learn today something of his affairs from his banker. He must have banked _somewhere_. But surely, Chief Inspector, there is a safe or private bureau in his flat?” “There is, sir,” said Kerry grimly; “a safe. I had it opened at six o’clock this morning. It had been hastily cleaned out; not a doubt of it. I expect Sir Lucien carried the keys on his person. You will remember, sir, that his pockets had been emptied?” “H’m,” mused the Assistant Commissioner. “This Cubanis Cigarette Company, Chief Inspector?” “Dummy goods!” rapped Kerry. “A blind. Just a back entrance to Kazmah’s office. Premises were leased on behalf of an agent. This agent—a reputable man of business—paid the rent quarterly. I’ve seen him.” “And who was his client?” asked the Assistant Commissioner, displaying a faint trace of interest. “A certain Mr. Isaacs!” “Who can be traced?” “Who can’t be traced!” “His checks?” Chief Inspector Kerry smiled, so that his large white teeth gleamed savagely. “Mr. Isaacs represented himself as a dealer in Covent Garden who was leasing the office for a lady friend, and who desired, for domestic reasons, to cover his tracks. As ready money in large amounts changes hands in the market, Mr. Isaacs paid ready money to the agent. Beyond doubt the real source of the ready money was Kazmah’s.” “But his address?” “A hotel in Covent Garden.” “Where he lives?” “Where he is known to the booking-clerk, a girl who allowed him to have letters addressed there. A man of smoke, sir, acting on behalf of someone in the background.”