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Updated: June 14, 2025


Dense chemical fumes rendered the air difficult to breathe; but the shelves, once laden with the largest illicit collection of drugs in London, were bare. Kerry's fierce eyes moved right and left; his jaws worked automatically. Sam Tuk sat motionless, his hands concealed in his sleeves, bending decrepitly forward in his chair. Then: "Hi! Guy Fawkes!" rapped Kerry, striding forward.

He glanced down at her tenderly and laid his hands upon her shoulders; but he was preoccupied, and the next moment, his jaws moving mechanically, he was staring straight before him. "A dog," he muttered, "a dog!" Mary Kerry did not move; until, a light of understanding coming into Kerry's fierce eyes, he slowly raised her and stood upright himself. "I have it!" he said. "Mary, the case is won!

"Not if I can be of the slightest assistance to you, Inspector." A theory to explain why this social butterfly had sought him out as a recipient of her compromising confidences presented itself to Kerry's mind.

There was not a newspaper man left at Key West who did not writhe with envy and anger when he heard of it. When the wire was closed for the night, and they had gathered at Josh Kerry's, Keating was the storm-centre of their indignation. "What a chance!" they protested. "What a story! It's the chance of a lifetime."

What she was thinking of as she sang with Kerry's coat in her hand it would be hard to discover by the process of elimination, as the detectives say when tracking down a criminal.

Unconsciously Kerry had glanced at the occupants and had recognized Margaret Halley and Seton Pasha. The old spirit of rivalry between himself and the man from Whitehall leapt up hotly within Kerry's breast. "Now where the hell has he been!" he muttered.

He could not even see his companion. "Hell!" he snapped irritably, as his foot touched a brick wall, "where the devil are you, constable?" "Here beside you, sir," answered P.C. Bryce, of K Division, his guide. "Which side?" "Here, sir." The constable grasped Kerry's arm. "But we've walked slap into a damn brick wall!" "Keep the wall on your left, sir, and it's all clear ahead."

The mountaineer stretched out his injured hand, and examined it for so long a time without speaking that it seemed as though he would not answer at all. The wound was healing admirably now; he had made shift to shoot, with Kerry's shoulder for a rest, and their larder was stocked with game once more.

Immediately above them, where the boats were beached, a man was coming down the slope, carrying a hurricane lantern. As Kerry and Seton watched, the man raised the lantern and swung it to and fro. "Watch!" whispered Seton. "He's signalling to the Greenwich bank!" Kerry's teeth snapped savagely together, and he chewed but made no reply, until: "There it is!" he said rapidly. "On the marshes!"

A whimpering cry came to Kerry's ears; and because beneath the mask of ferocity which he wore a humane man was concealed: "Flames!" he snapped; "perhaps I've broken the poor little devil's leg." Shaking a cascade of water from the brim of his neat bowler, he set off through the murk towards the spot from whence the cries of the spaniel seemed to proceed.

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