And so, though he was intensely weary, Westerham and Rookley, together with Dunton and Mendip, started for Madame Estelle's villa in St. John's Wood. Repeated pulls at the bell produced no response, and so they decided to burst open the garden gate. This they did, only to find the house shuttered and in darkness. There was no time for scruples and, obtaining entrance to the house, they searched the place from ceiling to roof. There was no sign of any life. “Limehouse!” cried Westerham. “We must try Limehouse!” “Limehouse?” demanded Rookley. “What do you mean?” In a few words Westerham gave Rookley the history of the crime club and his connection with it. “Really, Sir Paul,” grumbled Rookley, “I think we had better engage your services at the Yard; you seem to know a good deal more about London than we do.” “I am afraid I do,” said Westerham, bitterly. They started for Limehouse, but on the way Westerham came to the conclusion that they would be too late to serve any purpose. It was three o'clock, and by this time the place would be closed. Nothing remained, therefore, but to return to Downing Street and seek a few hours' rest. Westerham, fully dressed, flung himself on his bed, but could not sleep. At nine o'clock he went to visit the Premier in his room, and was shocked to see how aged and white and shaky Lord Penshurst looked. Westerham cheered him as best he could, and then, summoning Rookley, set out to look for Bagley, the smug banker of Herne Hill. They brought Bagley a prisoner back to Downing Street, but in spite of every inducement and every threat, he declared that he knew nothing whatsoever of the whereabouts of Melun. Half maddened with terror as to Kathleen's fate, Westerham next turned his search in the direction of the gaming house. But Melun had covered his tracks well. The house was as silent and devoid of any clue as had been the villa in St. John's Wood. There was nothing to do but wait till night and perfect the arrangements for the raid on Limehouse. The arrangements which Rookley made were complete, and worked smoothly. So overwhelming was the force of constables that surrounded the house that resistance on the part of the members of the crime club was rendered quite impossible. In the little room in the front of the house Westerham established a species of impromptu police-court. One by one the members of the club were brought in to him, and one by one they satisfied him that they had no knowledge of Melun's whereabouts. Still, Westerham had them safely kept under lock and key. It was noon when this curious inquisition was over, and then he immediately returned to Downing Street and sought the Premier's room. As Westerham entered he looked up with a smile which he fondly imagined was cheerful. His words were gloomy enough, and to Westerham seemed to have a certain amount of reproach in them.