ne it upon the face of the man on
the floor. It was a dirty, unshaven face, unevenly tanned, as though
the man had worn a beard until quite recently and had come from a hot
climate. He was attired in a manner which suggested that he might be a
ship's fireman save that he wore canvas shoes having rubber soles.

Kerry stood watching him for some moments. Then he groped behind him
with one foot until he found the pistol, the second pistol which the man
had dropped as he pitched on his skull. Kerry picked it up, and resting
the electric torch upon the crown of his neat bowler hat--which lay upon
the floor--he stooped, pistol in hand, and searched the pockets of the
prostrate man, who had begun to breathe stertorously. In the breast
pocket he found a leather wallet of good quality; and at this he stared,
a curious expression coming into his fierce eyes. He opened it, and
found Treasury notes, some official-looking papers, and a number of
cards. Upon one of these cards be directed the light, and this is what
he read:

Lord Wrexborough
Great Cumberland Place, V. 1
"To introduce 719. W."

"God's truth!" gasped Kerry. "It's the man from Whitehall!"

The stertorous breathing ceased, and a very dirty hand was thrust up to
him.

"I'm glad you spoke, Chief Inspector Kerry," drawled a vaguely familiar
voice. "I was just about to kick you in the back of the neck!"

Kerry dropped the wallet and grasped the proffered hand. "719" stood
up, smiling grimly. Footsteps were clattering on the stairs. Coombes had
heard the shot.

"Sir," said Kerry, "if ever you need a testimonial to your efficiency
at this game, my address is Sixty-seven Spenser Road, Brixton. We've met
before."

"We have, Chief Inspector," was the reply. "We met at Kazmah's, and
later at a certain gambling den in Soho."

The pseudo fireman dragged a big cigar-case from his hip-pocket.

"I'm known as Seton Pasha. Can I offer you a cheroot?"

CHAPTER XXXI. THE STORY OF 719

In a top back room of the end house in the street which also boasted the
residence of Sin Sin Wa, Seton Pasha and Chief Inspector Kerry sat one
on either side of a dirty deal table. Seton smoked and Kerry chewed. A
smoky oil-lamp burned upon the table, and two notebooks lay beside it.

"It is certainly odd," Seton was saying, "that you failed to break my
neck. But I have made it a practice since taking up my residence here
to wear a cap heavily padded. I apprehend sandbags an