“Deciding to work anonymously, I went post haste to Lord Wrexhorough and made certain arrangements whereby I became known to the responsible authorities as 719.  The explanation of these figures is a simple one.  My name is Greville Seton.  G is the seventh letter in the alphabet, and S the nineteenth; hence—­’seven-nineteen.’

“The increase of the drug traffic and the failure of the police to cope with it had led to the institution of a Home office inquiry, you see.  It was suspected that the traffic was in the hands of orientals, and in looking about for a confidential agent to make certain inquiries my name cropped up.  I was at that time employed by the Foreign office, but Lord Wrexborough borrowed me.”  Seton smiled at his own expression.  “Every facility was offered to me, as you know.  And that my investigations led me to the same conclusion as your own, my presence as lessee of this room, in the person of John Smiles, seaman, sufficiently demonstrates.”

“H’m,” said Kerry, “and I take it your investigations have also led you to the conclusion that our hands are clean?”

Seton Pasha fixed his cool regard upon the speaker.

“Personally, I never doubted this, Chief Inspector,” he declared.  “I believed, and I still believe, that the people who traffic in drugs are clever enough to keep in the good books of the local police.  It is a case of clever camouflage, rather than corruption.”

“Ah,” snapped Kerry.  “I was waiting to hear you mention it.  So long as we know.  I’m not a man that stands for being pointed at.  I’ve got a boy at a good public school, but if ever he said he was ashamed of his father, the day he said it would be a day he’d never forget!”

Seton Pasha smiled grimly and changed the topic.

“Let us see,” he said, “if we are any nearer to the heart of the mystery of Kazmah.  You were at the Regent Street bank today, I understand, at which the late Sir Lucien Pyne had an account?”

“I was,” replied Kerry.  “Next to his theatrical enterprises his chief source of income seems to have been a certain Jose Santos Company, of Buenos Ayres.  We’ve traced Kazmah’s account, too.  But no one at the bank has ever seen him.  The missing Rashid always paid in.  Checks were signed ‘Mohammed el-Kazmah,’ in which name the account had been opened.  From the amount standing to his credit there it’s evident that the proceeds of the dope business went elsewhere.”

“Where do you think they went?” asked Seton quietly, watching Kerry.

“Well,” rapped Kerry, “I think the same as you.  I’ve got two eyes and I can see out of both of them.”

“And you think?”

“I think they went to the Jose Santos Company, of Buenos Ayres!”

“Right!” cried Seton.  “I feel sure of it.  We may never know how it was all arranged or who was concerned, but I am convinced that Mr. Isaacs, lessee of the Cubanis Cigarette Company offices, Mr. Jacobs (my landlord!), Mohammed el-Kazmah—­whoever he may be—­the untraceable Mrs. Sin Sin Wa, and another, were all shareholders of the Jose Santos company.”