omplete as the first.

Kerry pulled the curtain aside, mounted the stair, walked along the
passage and out through the swing door into the yellow gloom of the
Causeway. Ten slow steps he had taken when he detected a sound of
pursuit. Like a flash he turned, clenching his fists. Then:

"Inspector!" whispered a husky voice.

"Yes! Who are you? What do you want?"

A dim form loomed up through the fog.

"My name is Peters, sir. Inspector Preston knows me."

Kerry had paused immediately under a street lamp, and now he looked into
the pinched, lean face of the speaker, and:

"I've heard of you," he snapped. "Got some information for me?"

"I think so; but walk on."

Chief Inspector Kerry hesitated. Peters belonged to a class which
Kerry despised with all the force of his straightforward character. A
professional informer has his uses from the police point of view; and
while evidence of this kind often figured in reports made to the Chief
Inspector, he personally avoided contact with such persons, as he
instinctively and daintily avoided contact with personal dirt. But now,
something so big was at stake that his hesitation was only momentary.

A vision of the pale face of Lady Rourke, of the golden head leaning
weakly back upon the cushions of the coupe, as he had glimpsed it in
Bond Street, rose before his mind's eye as if conjured up out of the
fog. Peters shuffled along beside him, and:

"Young Chada's done himself in to-night," continued the husky voice. "He
brought a swell girl to the old man's house an hour ago. I was hanging
about there, thinking I might get some information. I think she was
doped."

"Why?" snapped Kerry.

"Well, I was standing over on the other side of the street. Lou Chada
opened the door with a key; and when the light shone out I saw him carry
her in."

"Carry her in?"

"Yes. She was in evening dress, with a swell cloak."

"The car?"

"He came out again and drove it around to the garage at the back."

"Why didn't you report this at once?"

"I was on my way to do it when I saw you coming out of Malay Jack's."

The man's voice shook nervously, and:

"What are you scared about?" asked Kerry savagely. "Got anything else to
tell me?"

"No, no," muttered Peters. "Only I've got an idea he saw me."

"Who saw you?"

"Lou Chada."

"What then?"

"Well, only--don't leave me till we get to the station."

Kerry blew down his nose contemptuously, then stopped suddenly.

"Stand