ture,
beneath which the Thames water whispered eerily; and Kerry and Seton
disembarked, mounting a short flight of slimy wooden steps and crossing
a roughly planked place on to a shingly slope. Climbing this, they were
on damp waste ground, pathless and uninviting.

"Dougal's is being watched," said Kerry. "I think I told you?"

"Yes," replied Seton. "But I have formed the opinion that the dope gang
is too clever for the ordinary type of man. Sin Sin Wa is an instance
of what I mean. Neither you nor I doubt that he is a receiver of
drugs--perhaps the receiver; but where is our case? The only real
link connecting him with the West-End habitue is his wife. And she has
conveniently deserted him! We cannot possibly prove that she hasn't
while he chooses to maintain that she has."

"H'm," grunted Kerry, abruptly changing the subject. "I hope I'm not
recognized here."

"Have you visited the place before?"

"Some years ago. Unless there are any old hands on view tonight, I don't
think I shall be spotted."

He wore a heavy and threadbare overcoat, which was several sizes too
large for him, a muffler, and a weed cap--the outfit supplied by Seton
Pasha; and he had a very vivid and unpleasant recollection of his
appearance as viewed in his little pocket-mirror before leaving Seton's
room. As they proceeded across the muddy wilderness towards the light
which marked the site of Dougal's, they presented a picture of a
sufficiently villainous pair.

The ground was irregular, and the path wound sinuously about mounds of
rubbish; so that often the guiding light was lost, and they stumbled
blindly among nondescript litter, which apparently represented the
accumulation of centuries. But finally they turned a corner formed by a
stack of rusty scrap iron, and found a long, low building before them.
From a ground-floor window light streamed out upon the fragments of
rubbish strewing the ground, from amid which sickly weeds uprose as if
in defiance of nature's laws. Seton paused, and:

"What is Dougal's exactly?" he asked; "a public house?"

"No," rapped Kerry. "It's a coffee-shop used by the dockers. You'll see
when we get inside. The place never closes so far as I know, and if we
made 'em close there would be a dock strike."

He crossed and pushed open the swing door. As Seton entered at his
heels, a babel of coarse voices struck upon his ears and he found
himself in a superheated atmosphere suggestive of shag, stale spirits,
a