“We’re in for it now,” said Seton grimly, “whatever it is.”

Gray returned no answer, moving restlessly up and down before the door in a fever of excitement and dread.  Presently the Sergeant reappeared.

“Step this way, please,” he said.

Followed by Seton and Gray he led the way up to the landing before Kazmah’s apartments.  It was vaguely lighted by two police-lanterns.  Four men were standing there, and four pairs of eyes were focussed upon the stair-head.

Monte Irvin, his features a distressing ashen color, spoke.

“That you, Gray?” Quentin Gray would not have recognized the voice.  “Thanks for offering your help.  God knows I need all I can get.  You were with Rita tonight.  What happened?  Where is she?”

“Heaven knows where she is!” cried Gray.  “I left her here with Pyne shortly after seven o’clock.”

He paused, fixing his gaze upon the face of Brisley, whose shifty eyes avoided him and who was licking his lips in the manner of a dog who has seen the whip.

“Why,” said Gray, “I believe you are the fellow who has been following me all night for some reason.”

He stepped toward the foxy little man but: 

“Never mind, Gray,” interrupted Irvin.  “I was to blame.  But he was following my wife, not you.  Tell me quickly:  Why did she come here?”

Gray raised his hand to his brow with a gesture of bewilderment.

“To consult this man, Kazmah.  I actually saw her enter the inner room, I went to get a cab, and when I returned the door was locked.”

“You knocked?”

“Of course.  I made no end of a row.  But I could get no reply and went away.”

Monte Irvin turned, a pathetic figure, to the Inspector who stood beside him.

“We may as well proceed, Inspector Whiteleaf,” he said.  “Mr. Gray’s evidence throws no light on the matter at all.”

“Very well, sir,” was the reply; “we have the warrant, and have given the usual notice to whoever may be hiding inside.  Burton!”

The Sergeant stepped forward, placed the leather bag on the floor, and stooping, opened it, revealing a number of burglarious-looking instruments.

“Shall I try to cut through the panel?” he asked.

“No, no!” cried Monte Irvin.  “Waste no time.  You have a crowbar there.  Force the door from its hinges.  Hurry, man!”

“It doesn’t work on hinges!” Gray interrupted excitedly.  “It slides to the right by means of some arrangement concealed under the mat.”

“Pass that lantern,” directed Burton, glancing over his shoulder to Gunn.

Setting it beside him, the Sergeant knelt and examined the threshold of the door.

“A metal plate,” he said.  “The weight moves a lever, I suppose, which opens the door if it isn’t locked.  The lock will be on the left of the door as it opens to the right.  Let’s see what we can do.”

He stood up, crowbar in hand, and inserted the chisel blade of the implement between the edge of the door and the doorcase.