“I personally saw Mr. Gray, Sir Lucien Pyne and the lady go into Kazmah’s.  At that time—­roughly, ten to seven—­all the other offices had been closed, approximately, one hour.”

“There is absolutely no possibility that they might have come out unseen by you?”

“None, sir.  I should not have troubled a client if in doubt.  Here’s Gunn.”

Old Bond Street now was darkened and deserted; the yellow mist had turned to fine rain, and Gunn, his hands thrust in his pockets, was sheltering under the porch of the arcade.  Gunn possessed a purple complexion which attained to full vigor of coloring in the nasal region.  His moustache of dirty grey was stained brown in the centre as if by frequent potations of stout, and his bulky figure was artificially enlarged by the presence of two overcoats, the outer of which was a waterproof and the inner a blue garment appreciably longer both in sleeve and skirt than the former.  The effect produced was one of great novelty.  Gunn touched the brim of his soft felt hat, which he wore turned down all round apparently in imitation of a flower-pot.

“All snug, sir,” he said, hoarsely and confidentially, bending forward and breathing the words into Irvin’s ear.  “Snug as a bee in a hive.  You’re as good as a bachelor again.”

Monte Irvin mentally recoiled.

“Lead the way to the door of this place,” he said tersely.

“Yes, sir, this way, sir.  Be careful of the step there.  You may remark that the outer door is not yet closed.  I am informed upon reliable authority as the last to go locks the door.  Hence we perceive that the last has not yet gone.  It is likewise opened by the first to come of a mornin’.  Here we are, sir; door on the right.”

The landing was in darkness, but as Gunn spoke he directed the ray of a pocket lamp upon a bronze plate bearing the name “Kazmah.”  He rested one hand upon his hip.

“All snug,” he repeated; “as snug as a eel in mud.  The decree nisi is yours, sir.  As an alderman of the City of London and a Justice of the Peace you are entitled to call a police officer—­”

“Hold your tongue!” rapped Irvin.  “You’ve been drinking:  and I place no reliance whatever in your evidence.  I do not believe that my wife or any one else but ourselves is upon these premises.”

The watery eyes of the insulted man protruded unnaturally.  “Drinkin’!” he whispered, “drink—­”

But indignation now deprived Gunn of speech and: 

“Excuse me, sir,” interrupted the nasal voice of Brisley, “but I can absolutely answer for Gunn.  Reputation of the Agency at stake.  Worked with us for three years.  Parties undoubtedly on the premises as reported.”

“Drink—­” whispered Gunn.

“I shall be glad,” said Monte Irvin, and his voice shook emotionally, “if you will lend me your pocket lamp.  I am naturally upset.  Will you kindly both go downstairs.  I will call if I want you.”