avy step sounded from outside--someone was mounting the stairs--and
a disk of light suddenly appeared upon the ground-glass panel of the
door.

Kerry stood quite still, chewing steadily.

"Who's there?" came the voice of the constable posted on Kazmah's
landing.

The inspector made no reply.

"Is there anyone here?" cried the man.

The disk of light disappeared, and the alert constable could be heard
moving along the corridor to inspect the other offices. But the ray had
shone upon the frosted glass long enough to enable Kerry to read the
words painted there in square black letters. They had appeared reversed,
of course, and had read thus:

.OC ETTERAGIC SINABUC

CHAPTER XI. THE DRUG SYNDICATE

At six-thirty that morning Margaret Halley was aroused by her maid--the
latter but half awake--and sitting up in bed and switching on the lamp,
she looked at the card which the servant had brought to her, and read
the following:

CHIEF INSPECTOR KERRY,
C.I.D.
New Scotland Yard, S.W.I.

"Oh, dear," she said sleepily, "what an appallingly early visitor. Is
the bath ready yet, Janet?"

"I'm afraid not," replied the maid, a plain, elderly woman of the
old-fashioned useful servant type. "Shall I take a kettle into the
bathroom?"

"Yes--that will have to do. Tell Inspector Kerry that I shall not be
long."

Five minutes later Margaret entered her little consulting-room, where
Kerry, having adjusted his tie, was standing before the mirror in the
overmantle, staring at a large photograph of the charming lady doctor
in military uniform. Kerry's fierce eyes sparkled appreciatively as his
glance rested on the tall figure arrayed in a woollen dressing-gown, the
masculine style of which by no means disguised the beauty of Margaret's
athletic figure. She had hastily arranged her bright hair with
deliberate neglect of all affectation. She belonged to that ultra-modern
school which scorns to sue masculine admiration, but which cannot
dispense with it nevertheless. She aspired to be assessed upon an
intellectual basis, an ambition which her unfortunate good looks
rendered difficult of achievement.

"Good morning, Inspector," she said composedly. "I was expecting you."

"Really, miss?" Kerry stared curiously. "Then you know what I've come
about?"

"I think so. Won't you sit down? I am afraid the room is rather cold. Is
it about--Sir Lucien Pyne?"

"Well," replied Kerry, "it concerns him certainly. I've been