ment on the desk, shaken with
such a storm of apprehension as he had rarely known. He turned to the
inspector in charge, and:

"Let me have that envelope I left with you," he directed. "And have
someone 'phone for a taxi; they are to keep on till they get one. Where
is Sergeant Durham?"

"At the mortuary."

"Ah!"

"Any developments, Chief Inspector?"

"Yes. But apart from keeping a close watch upon the house of Zani Chada
you are to do nothing until you hear from me again."

"Very good," said the inspector. "Are you going to wait for Durham's
report?"

"No. Directly the cab arrives I am going to wait for nothing."

Indeed, he paced up and down the room like a wild beast caged, while
call after call was sent to neighbouring cab ranks, for a long time
without result. What did it mean, his wife's failure to answer the
telephone? It might mean that neither she nor their one servant nor Dan
was in the house. And if they were not in the house at this hour of the
night, where could they possibly be? This it might mean, or--something
worse.

A thousand and one possibilities, hideous, fantastic, appalling, flashed
through his mind. He was beginning to learn what Zani Chada had meant
when he had said: "I have followed your career with interest."

At last a taxi was found, and the man instructed over the 'phone to
proceed immediately to Limehouse station. He seemed so long in coming
that when at last the cab was heard to pause outside, Kerry could not
trust himself to speak to the driver, but directed a sergeant to give
him the address. He entered silently and closed the door.

A steady drizzle of rain was falling. It had already dispersed the fog,
so that he might hope with luck to be home within the hour. As a matter
of fact, the man performed the journey in excellent time, but it seemed
to his passenger that he could have walked quicker, such was the gnawing
anxiety within him and the fear which prompted him to long for wings.

Instructing the cabman to wait, Kerry unlocked the front door and
entered. He had noted a light in the dining room window, and entering,
he found his wife awaiting him there. She rose as he entered, with
horror in her comely face.

"Dan!" she whispered. "Dan! where is ye'r mackintosh?"

"I didn't take it," he replied, endeavouring to tell himself that his
apprehensions had been groundless. "But how was it that you did not
answer the telephone?"

"What do ye mean, Dan?" Mary Kerry star