pon the seat of the
chair and set to work. Kerry entered the inside room or office. It
contained a writing-table (upon which was a telephone and a pile of old
newspapers), a cabinet, and two chairs. Upon one of the chairs lay
a crush-hat, a cane, and an overcoat. He glanced at some of the
newspapers, then opened the drawers of the writing-table. They were
empty. The cabinet proved to be locked, and a door which he saw must
open upon a narrow passage running beside the suite of rooms was locked
also. There was nothing in the pockets of the overcoat, but inside the
hat he found pasted the initials L. P. He rolled chewing-gum, stared
reflectively at the little window immediately above the table, through
which a glimpse might be obtained of the ebony chair, and went out
again.

"Nothing," reported Coombes.

"What do you mean--nothing?"

"His pockets are empty!"

"All of them?"

"Every one."

"Good," said Kerry. "Make a note of it. He wears a real pearl stud and a
good signet ring; also a gold wrist watch, face broken and hands stopped
at seven-fifteen. That was the time he died. He was stabbed from behind
as he stood where I'm standing now, fell forward, struck his head on the
leg of the chair, and lay face downwards."

"I've got that," muttered Coombes. "What stopped the watch?"

"Broken as he fell. There are tiny fragments of glass stuck in the
carpet, showing the exact position in which his body originally lay; and
for God's sake stop smiling."

Kerry threw open the door.

"Who first found the body?" he demanded of the silent company.

"I did," cried Quentin Gray, coming forward. "I and Seton Pasha."

"Seton Pasha!" Kerry's teeth snapped together, so that he seemed to bite
off the words. "I don't see a Turk present."

Seton smiled quietly.

"My friend uses a title which was conferred upon me some years ago by
the ex-Khedive," he said. "My name is Greville Seton."

Inspector Kerry glanced back across his shoulder.

"Notes," he said. "Unlock your ears, Coombes." He looked at Gray. "What
is your name?"

"Quentin Gray."

"Who are you, and in what way are you concerned in this case?"

"I am the son of Lord Wrexborough, and I--"

He paused, glancing helplessly at Seton. He had recognized that the
first mention of Rita Irvin's name in the police evidence must be made
by himself.

"Speak up, sir," snapped Kerry. "Sergeant Coombes is deaf."

Gray's face flushed, and his eyes gleamed angrily.

"I sh