n could draw him from his post. Hour after hour he
waited patiently--for Sin Sin Wa paid fair prices, and tonight he bought
neither opium nor cocaine, but liberty.

Seton Pasha, passing from point to point, and nowhere receiving news of
Kerry, began to experience a certain anxiety respecting the safety of
the intrepid Chief Inspector. His mind filled with troubled conjectures,
he passed the house formerly occupied by the one-eyed Chinaman--where he
found Detective-Sergeant Coombes on duty and very much on the alert--and
followed the bank of the Thames in the direction of Limehouse Basin.
The narrow, ill-lighted street was quite deserted. Bad weather and the
presence of many police had driven the Asiatic inhabitants indoors.
But from the river and the docks arose the incessant din of industry.
Whistles shrieked and machinery clanked, and sometimes remotely came the
sound of human voices.

Musing upon the sordid mystery which seems to underlie the whole of
this dingy quarter, Seton pursued his way, crossing inlets and circling
around basins dimly divined, turning to the right into a lane flanked
by high eyeless walls, and again to the left, finally to emerge nearly
opposite a dilapidated gateway giving access to a small wharf.

All unconsciously, he was traversing the same route as that recently
pursued by the fugitive Sin Sin Wa; but now he paused, staring at
the empty wharf. The annexed building, a mere shell, had not escaped
examination by the search party, and it was with no very definite
purpose in view that Seton pushed open the rickety gate. Doubtless
Kismet, of which the Arabs speak, dictated that he should do so.

The tide was high, and the water whispered ghostly under the
pile-supported structure. Seton experienced a new sense of chill which
did not seem to be entirely physical as he stared out at the gloomy
river prospect and listened to the uncanny whisperings of the tide. He
was about to turn back when another sound attracted his attention. A dog
was whimpering somewhere near him.

At first he was disposed to believe that the sound was due to some other
cause, for the deserted wharf was not a likely spot in which to find
a dog, but when to the faint whimpering there was added a scratching
sound, Seton's last doubts vanished.

"It's a dog," he said, "a small dog."

Like Kerry, he always carried an electric pocket-lamp, and now he
directed its rays into the interior of the building.

A tiny spaniel, w