Dope

  CHAPTER VIII. KERRY CONSULTS THE ORACLE

  The clock of Brixton Town Hall was striking the hour of 1 a.m. as ChiefInspector Kerry inserted his key in the lock of the door of his house inSpenser Road.

  A light was burning in the hallway, and from the little dining-room onthe left the reflection of a cheerful fire danced upon the white paintof the half-open door. Kerry deposited his hat, cane, and overall uponthe rack, and moving very quietly entered the room and turned onthe light. A modestly furnished and scrupulously neat apartment wasrevealed. On the sheepskin rug before the fire a Manx cat was dozingbeside a pair of carpet slippers. On the table some kind of cold repastwas laid, the viands concealed under china covers. At a large bottle ofGuinness's Extra Stout Kerry looked with particular appreciation.

  He heaved a long sigh of contentment, and opened the bottle of stout.Having poured out a glass of the black and foaming liquid and satisfiedan evidently urgent thirst, he explored beneath the covers, andpresently was seated before a spread of ham and tongue, tomatoes, andbread and butter.

  A door opened somewhere upstairs, and:

  "Is that yoursel', Dan?" inquired a deep but musical female voice.

  "Sure it is," replied Kerry; and no one who had heard the high officialtones of the imperious Chief Inspector would have supposed that theycould be so softened and modulated. "You should have been asleep hoursago, Mary."

  "Have ye to go out again?"

  "I have, bad luck; but don't trouble to come down. I've all I want andmore."

  "If 'tis a new case I'll come down."

  "It's the devil's own case; but you'll get your death of cold."

  Sounds of movement in the room above followed, and presently footstepson the stairs. Mrs. Kerry, enveloped in a woollen dressing-gown, whichobviously belonged to the Inspector, came into the room. Upon her Kerrydirected a look from which all fierceness had been effaced, and whichexpressed only an undying admiration. And, indeed, Mary Kerry was inmany respects a remarkable character. Half an inch taller than Kerry,she fully merited the compliment designed by that trite apothegm, "afine woman." Large-boned but shapely, as she came in with her long darkhair neatly plaited, it seemed to her husband--who had remained herlover--that he saw before him the rosy-cheeked lass whom ten yearsbefore he had met and claimed on the chilly shores of Loch Broom. By allher neighbors Mrs. Kerry was looked upon as a proud, reserved person,who had held herself much aloof since her husband had become ChiefInspector; and the reputation enjoyed by Red Kerry was that of anaggressive and uncompanionable man. Now here was a lover's meeting, notlacking the shy, downward glance of dark eyes as steel-blue eyes flashedfrank admiration.

  Kerry, who quarrelled with everybody except the Assistant Commissioner,had only found one cause of quarrel with Mary. He was a devout RomanCatholic, and for five years he had clung with the bull-dog tenacitywhich was his to the belief that he could convert his wife to thefaith of Rome. She remained true to the Scottish Free Church, in whoseprecepts she had been reared, and at the end of the five years Kerrygave it up and admired her all the more for her Caledonian strength ofmind. Many and heated were the debates he had held with worthy FatherO'Callaghan respecting the validity of a marriage not solemnized by apriest, but of late years he had grown reconciled to the parting ofthe ways on Sunday morning; and as the early mass was over beforethe Scottish service he was regularly to be seen outside a certainPresbyterian chapel waiting for his heretical spouse.

  He pulled her down on to his knee and kissed her.

  "It's twelve hours since I saw you," he said.

  She rested her arm on the back of the saddle-back chair, and her darkhead close beside Kerry's fiery red one.

  "I kenned ye had a new case on," she said, "when it grew so late. Howlong can ye stay?"

  "An hour. No more. There's a lot to do before the papers come out inthe morning. By breakfast time all England, including the murderer, willknow I'm in charge of the case. I wish I could muzzle the Press."

  "'Tis a murder, then? The Lord gi'e us grace. Ye'll be wishin' to tellme?"

  "Yes. I'm stumped!"

  "Ye've time for a rest an' a smoke. Put ye're slippers on."

  "I've no time for that, Mary."

  She stood up and took the slippers from the hearth.

  "Put ye're slippers on," she repeated firmly.

  Kerry stooped without another word and began to unlace his brogues.Meanwhile from a side-table his wife brought a silver tobacco-box anda stumpy Irish clay. The slippers substituted for his shoes, Kerrylovingly filled the cracked and blackened bowl with strong Irish twist,which he first teased carefully in his palm. The bowl rested almostunder his nostrils when he put the pipe in his mouth, and how hecontrived to light it without burning his moustache was not readilyapparent. He succeeded, however, and soon was puffing clouds of pungentsmoke into the air with the utmost contentment.

  "Now," said his wife, seating herself upon the arm of the chair, "tellme, Dan."

  Thereupon began a procedure identical to that which had characterizedthe outset of every successful case of the Chief Inspector. He rapidlyoutlined the complexities of the affair in old Bond Street, and MaryKerry surveyed the problem with a curious and almost fey detachment ofmind, which enabled her to see light where all was darkness to the manon the spot. With the clarity of a trained observer Kerry described theapartments of Kazmah, the exact place where the murdered man had beenfound, and the construction of the rooms. He gave the essential pointsfrom the evidence of the several witnesses, quoting the exact times atwhich various episodes had taken place. Mary Kerry, looking straightlybefore her with unseeing eyes, listened in silence until he ceasedspeaking; then:

  "There are really but twa rooms," she said, in a faraway voice, "but thesecond o' these is parteetioned into three parts?"

  "That's it."

  "A door free the landing opens upon the fairst room, a door free apassage opens upon the second. Where does yon passage lead?"

  "From the main stair along beside Kazmah's rooms to a small back stair.This back stair goes from top to bottom of the building, from the end ofthe same hallway as the main stair."

  "There is na either way out but by the front door?"

  "No."

  "Then if the evidence o' the Spinker man is above suspeecion, Mrs. Irvinand this Kazmah were still on the premises when ye arrived?"

  "Exactly. I gathered that much at Vine Street before I went on to BondStreet. The whole block was surrounded five minutes after my arrival,and it still is."

  "What ither offices are in this passage?"

  "None. It's a blank wall on the left, and one door on the right--theone opening into the Kazmah office. There are other premises on the samefloor, but they are across the landing."

  "What premises?"

  "A solicitor and a commission agent."

  "The floor below?"

  "It's all occupied by a modiste, Renan."

  "The top floor?"

  "Cubanis Cigarette Company, a servants' and an electrician."

  "Nae more?"

  "No more."

  "Where does yon back stair open on the topmaist floor?"

  "In a corridor similar to that alongside Kazmah's. It has two windowson the right overlooking a narrow roof and the top of the arcade, and onthe left is the Cubanis Cigarette Company. The other offices are acrossthe landing."

  Mary Kerry stared into space awhile.

  "Kazmah and Mrs. Irvin could ha' come down to the fairst floor, or geneup to the thaird floor unseen by the Spinker man," she said dreamily.

  "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 timehis watch was broken--the native sairvent did no' kill him. Frae theSpinker's evidence the black man went awe' before then," she said. "Mrs.Irvin?"

  Kerry shook his head.
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  "From all accounts a slip of a woman," he replied. "It was a strong handthat struck the blow."

  "Kazmah?"

  "Probably."

  "Mr. Quentin Gray came back wi' a cab and went upstairs, free theSpinker's evidence, at aboot a quarter after seven, and came doon fivemeenites later sair pale an' fretful."

  Kerry surrounded himself and the speaker with wreaths of stifling smoke.

  "We have only the bare word of Mr. Gray that he didn't go in again,Mary; but I believe him. He's a hot-headed fool, but square."

  "Then 'twas yon Kazmah," announced Mrs. Kerry. "Who is Kazmah?"

  Her husband laughed shortly.

  "That's the point at which I got stumped," he replied. "We've heard ofhim at the Yard, of course, and we know that under the cloak of a dealerin Eastern perfumes he carried on a fortune-telling business. He managedto avoid prosecution, though. It took me over an hour tonight to explorethe thought-reading mechanism; it's a sort of Maskelyne's Mysteriesworked from the inside room. But who Kazmah is or what's his nationalityI know no more than the man in the moon."

  "Pairfume?" queried the far-away voice.

  "Yes, Mary. The first room is a sort of miniature scent bazaar. Thereare funny little imitation antique flasks of Kazmah preparations,creams, perfumes and incense, also small square wooden boxes of a kindof Turkish delight, and a stock of Egyptian mummy-beads, statuettes, andthe like, which may be genuine for all I know."

  "Nae books or letters?"

  "Not a thing, except his own advertisements, a telephone directory, andso on."

  "The inside office bureau?"

  "Empty as Mother Hubbard's cupboard!"

  "The place was ransacked by the same folk that emptied the dead man'spockets so as tee leave nae clue," pronounced the sibyl-like voice. "Mr.Gray said he had choc'lates wi' him. Where did he leave them?"

  "Mary, you're a wonder!" exclaimed the admiring Kerry. "The box waslying on the divan in the first room where he said he had left it ongoing out for a cab."

  "Does nane o' the evidence show if Mrs. Irvin had been to Kazmah'sbefore?"

  "Yes. She went there fairly regularly to buy perfume."

  "No' for the fortune-tellin'?"

  "No. According to Mr. Gray, to buy perfume."

  "Had Mr. Gray been there wi' her before?"

  "No. Sir Lucien Pyne seems to have been her pretty constant companion."

  "Do ye suspect she was his lady-love?"

  "I believe Mr. Gray suspects something of the kind."

  "And Mr. Gray?"

  "He is not such an old friend as Sir Lucien was. But I fancynevertheless it was Mr. Gray that her husband doubted."

  "Do ye suspect the puir soul had cause, Dan?"

  "No," replied Kerry promptly; "I don't. The boy is mad about her, but Ifancy she just liked his company. He's the heir of Lord Wrexborough, andMrs. Irvin used to be a stage beauty. It's a usual state of affairs, andmore often than not means nothing."

  "I dinna ken sich folk," declared Mary Kerry. "They a'most desairve allthey get. They are bound tee come tee nae guid end. Where did ye say SirLucien lived?"

  "Albemarle Street; just round the corner."

  "Ye told me that he only kepit twa sairvents: a cook, hoosekeper, wholived awe', an' a man--a foreigner?"

  "A kind of half-baked Dago, named Juan Mareno. A citizen of the UnitedStates according to his own account."

  "Ye dinna like Juan Mareno?"

  "He's a hateful swine!" flashed Kerry, with sudden venom. "I'm watchingMareno very closely. Coombes is at work upon Sir Lucien's papers. Hislife was a bit of a mystery. He seems to have had no relations living,and I can't find that he even employed a solicitor."

  "Ye'll be sairchin' for yon Egyptian?"

  "The servant? Yes. We'll have him by the morning, and then we shall knowwho Kazmah is. Meanwhile, in which of the offices is Kazmah hiding?"

  Mary Kerry was silent for so long that her husband repeated thequestion:

  "In which of the offices is Kazmah hiding?"

  "In nane," she said dreamily. "Ye surrounded the buildings too late, Iken."

  "Eh!" cried Kerry, turning his head excitedly. "But the man Brisley wasat the door all night!"

  "It doesna' matter. They have escapit."

  Kerry scratched his close-cropped head in angry perplexity.

  "You're always right, Mary," he said. "But hang me if--Never mind! Whenwe get the servant we'll soon get Kazmah."

  "Aye," murmured his wife. "If ye hae na' got Kazmah the now."

  "But--Mary! This isn't helping me! It's mystifying me deeper than ever!"

  "It's no' clear eno', Dan. But for sure behind this mystery o' thedeath o' Sir Lucien there's a darker mystery still; sair dark. 'Tis thebiggest case ye ever had. Dinna look for Kazmah. Look tee find why thewoman went tee him; and try tee find the meanin' o' the sma' windowbehind the big chair.... Yes"--she seemed to be staring at some distantvisible object--"watch the man Mareno--"

  "But--Mrs. Irvin--"

  "Is in God's guid keepin'--"

  "You don't think she's dead!"

  "She is wairse than dead. Her sins have found her out." The fey lightsuddenly left her eyes, and they became filled with tears. She turnedimpulsively to her husband. "Oh, Dan! Ye must find her! Ye must findher! Puir weak hairt--dinna ye ken how she is suffering!"

  "My dear," he said, putting his arms around her, "What is it? What isit?"

  She brushed the tears from her eyes and tried to smile. "'Tis somethinglike the second sight, Dan," she answered simply. "And it's escapitme again. I a'most had the clue to it a' oh, there's some horriblewickedness in it, an' cruelty an' shame."

  The clock on the mantel shelf began to peal. Kerry was watching hiswife's rosy face with a mixture of loving admiration and wonder. Shelooked so very bonny and placid and capable that he was puzzled anew atthe strange gift which she seemingly inherited from her mother, who hadbeen equally shrewd, equally comely and similarly endowed.

  "God bless us all!" he said, kissed her heartily, and stood up. "Backto bed you go, my dear. I must be off. There's Mr. Irvin to see in themorning, too."

  A few minutes later he was swinging through the deserted streets, hismind wholly occupied with lover-like reflections to the exclusion ofthose professional matters which properly should have been engaginghis attention. As he passed the end of a narrow court near the railwaystation, the gleam of his silver mounted malacca attracted the attentionof a couple of loafers who were leaning one on either side of an ironpillar in the shadow of the unsavory alley. Not another pedestrian wasin sight, and only the remote night-sounds of London broke the silence.

  Twenty paces beyond, the footpads silently closed in upon their prey.The taller of the pair reached him first, only to receive a back-handedblow full in his face which sent him reeling a couple of yards.

  Round leapt the assaulted man to face his second assailant.

  "If you two smarts really want handling," he rapped ferociously, "saythe word, and I'll bash you flat."

  As he turned, the light of a neighboring lamp shone down upon the savageface, and a smothered yell came from the shorter ruffian:

  "Blimey, Bill! It's Red Kerry!"

  Whereupon, as men pursued by devils, the pair made off like the wind!

  Kerry glared after the retreating figures for a moment, and a grin offierce satisfaction revealed his gleaming teeth. He turned again andswung on his way toward the main road. The incident had done him good.It had banished domestic matters from his mind, and he was become againthe highly trained champion of justice, standing, an unseen buckler,between society and the criminal.