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Neither of the representatives of Spinker's Agency ventured any remark, and: "How long have you been watching Mrs. Monte Irvin?" demanded Kerry. "Nearly a fortnight," replied Brisley. "Got your evidence in writing?" "Yes." "Up to tonight?" "Yes." "Dictate to Sergeant Coombes." He turned on his heel and crossed to the divan upon which his oilskin overall was lying.
"But they couldn't have reached the street, my dear!" cried Kerry. "No they couldn'a ha' gained the street." She became silent again, her husband watching her expectantly. Then: "If puir Sir Lucien Pyne was killed at a quarter after seven the time his watch was broken the native sairvent did no' kill him. Frae the Spinker's evidence the black man went awe' before then," she said. "Mrs. Irvin?"
"My name is James Gunn," replied this greatly insulted man in a husky voice. "Who are you? What are you? What are you doing here?" "I'm employed by Spinker's Agency, and " "Oh!" shouted Kerry, moving his shoulders. He approached the speaker and glared menacingly into his purple face. "Ho, ho! So you're one of the queer birds out of that roost, are you? Spinker's Agency! Ah, yes!"
From the car Monte Irvin alighted and, telling the man to wait, set out on foot. Ten paces along Bond Street he encountered a small, stooping figure which became detached from the shadows of a shop door. The light of a street lamp shone down upon the sharp, hooked nose and into the cunning little brown eyes of Brisley, of Spinker's Detective Agency. Monte Irvin started.
Kerry shook his head. "From all accounts a slip of a woman," he replied. "It was a strong hand that struck the blow." "Kazmah?" "Probably." "Mr. Quentin Gray came back wi' a cab and went upstairs, free the Spinker's evidence, at aboot a quarter after seven, and came doon five meenites later sair pale an' fretful." Kerry surrounded himself and the speaker with wreaths of stifling smoke.
Although, perhaps mercifully, she was unaware of the fact, representatives of Spinker's Agency had been following her during the whole of the preceding fortnight. That Rita was in desperate trouble of some kind her husband had not failed to perceive, and her reticence had quite naturally led him to a certain conclusion. He had sought to win her confidence by every conceivable means and had failed.
With one surprising spring he hurled himself upon the unprepared man, grasped him by his coat collar, and shone the light of an electric torch fully into his face. "Hell!" he snapped. "The smart from Spinker's!" The ray of the torch lighted up the mean, pinched face of Brisley, blanched now by fright, gleamed upon the sharp, hooked nose and into the cunning little brown eyes.
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