Kerry left the Eurasian's house in a frame of mind
which was not familiar to him. He was undecided respecting his next
move. A deadly menace underlay Chada's words.

"Consult your wife," he kept muttering to himself. When the door was
opened for him by the Chinese servant, he paused a moment before going
out into the fog. There were men on duty at the back and at the front of
the house. Should he risk all and raid the place? That Lady Rourke was
captive here he no longer doubted. But it was equally certain that no
further harm would come to her at the hands of her captors, since she
had been traced there and since Zani Chada was well aware of the fact.
Of the whereabouts of Lou Chada he could not be certain. If he was in
the house, they had him.

The door was closed by the Chinaman, and Kerry stood out in the darkness
of the dismal, brick-walled street, feeling something as nearly akin
to dejection as was possible in one of his mercurial spirit. Something
trickled upon the brim of his hat, and, raising his head, Kerry detected
rain upon his upturned face. He breathed a prayer of thankfulness. This
would put an end to the fog.

He began to walk along by the high brick wall, but had not proceeded far
before a muffled figure arose before him and the light of an electric
torch was shone into his face.

"Oh, it's you, Chief Inspector!" came the voice of the watcher.

"It is," rapped Kerry. "Unless there are tunnels under this old
rat-hole, I take it the men on duty can cover all the exits?"

"All the main exits," was the reply. "But, as you say, it's a strange
house, and Zani Chada has a stranger reputation."

"Do nothing until you hear from me."

"Very good, Chief Inspector."

The rain now was definitely conquering the fog, and in half the time
which had been occupied by the outward journey Kerry was back again in
Limehouse police station. Unconsciously he had been hastening his pace
with every stride, urged onward by an unaccountable anxiety, so that
finally he almost ran into the office and up to the desk where the
telephone stood.

Lifting it, he called his own number and stood tapping his foot,
impatiently awaiting the reply. Presently came the voice of the
operator: "Have they answered yet?"

"No."

"I will ring them again."

Kerry's anxiety became acute, almost unendurable; and when at last,
after repeated attempts, no reply could be obtained from his home, he
replaced the receiver and leaned for a mo