His keenness was thrilling, infectious.  As a result of the night’s “beating” he had a list of some twenty names whose owners might have been patrons of Kazmah and some of whom might know Mrs. Sin.  But he had learned from bitter experience how difficult it was to induce such people to give useful evidence.  There was practically no means of forcing them to speak if they chose, from selfish motives, to be silent.  They could be forced to appear in court, but anything elicited in public was worse than useless.  Furthermore, Kerry could not afford to wait.  Mollie replied excitedly: 

“Oh, Inspector, I know you will think me simply an appalling person when I tell you; but I have been to Mrs. Sin’s house—­’The House of a Hundred Raptures’ she calls it—­”

“Yes, yes!  But—­the address?”

“However can I tell you the address, Inspector?  I could drive you there, but I haven’t the very haziest idea of the name of the horrible street!  One drives along dreadful roads where there are stalls and Jews for quite an interminable time, and then over a sort of canal, and then round to the right all among ships and horrid Chinamen.  Then, there is a doorway in a little court, and Mrs. Sin’s husband sits inside a smelly room with a positively ferocious raven who shrieks about legs and policemen!  Oh!  Can I ever forget it!”

“One moment, miss, one moment,” said Kerry, keeping an iron control upon himself.  “What is the name of Mrs. Sin’s husband?”

“Oh, let me think!  I can always remember it by recalling the croak of the raven.”  She raised one hand to her brow, posing reflectively, and began to murmur: 

“Sin Sin Ah . . .  Sin Sin Jar . . .  Sin Sin—­Oh!  I have it!  Sin Sin Wa!”

“Good!” rapped Kerry, and made a note on the block.  “Sin Sin Wa, and he has a pet raven, you say, who talks?”

“Who positively talks like some horrid old woman!” cried Mollie.  “He has only one eye.”

“The raven?”

“The raven, yes—­and also the Chinaman.”

“What!”

“Oh! it’s a nightmare to behold them together!” declared Mollie, clasping her hands and bending forward.

She was gaining courage, and now looked almost boldly into the fierce eyes of the Chief Inspector.

“Describe the house,” he said succinctly.  “Take your time and use your own words.”

Thereupon Mollie launched into a description of Sin Sin Wa’s opium-house.  Kerry, his eyes fixed upon her face, listened silently.  Then: 

“These little rooms are really next door?” he asked.

“I suppose so, Inspector.  We always went through the back of a cupboard!”

“Can you give me names of others who used this place?”

“Well”—­Mollie hesitated—­“poor Rita, of course and Sir Lucien.  Then, Cyrus Kilfane used to go.”

“Kilfane?  The American actor?”

“Yes.”

“H’m.  He’s back in America, Sir Lucien is dead, and Mrs. Irvin is missing.  Nobody else?”