“Nae books or letters?”

“Not a thing, except his own advertisements, a telephone directory, and so on.”

“The inside office bureau?”

“Empty as Mother Hubbard’s cupboard!”

“The place was ransacked by the same folk that emptied the dead man’s pockets 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 was lying on the divan in the first room where he said he had left it on going out for a cab.”

“Does nane o’ the evidence show if Mrs. Irvin had been to Kazmah’s before?”

“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 fancy nevertheless 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 I fancy she just liked his company.  He’s the heir of Lord Wrexborough, and Mrs. Irvin used to be a stage beauty.  It’s a usual state of affairs, and more often than not means nothing.”

“I dinna ken sich folk,” declared Mary Kerry.  “They a’most desairve all they get.  They are bound tee come tee nae guid end.  Where did ye say Sir Lucien lived?”

“Albemarle Street; just round the corner.”

“Ye told me that he only kepit twa sairvents:  a cook, hoosekeper, who lived awe’, an’ a man—­a foreigner?”

“A kind of half-baked Dago, named Juan Mareno.  A citizen of the United States according to his own account.”

“Ye dinna like Juan Mareno?”

“He’s a hateful swine!” flashed Kerry, with sudden venom.  “I’m watching Mareno very closely.  Coombes is at work upon Sir Lucien’s papers.  His life 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 know who Kazmah is.  Meanwhile, in which of the offices is Kazmah hiding?”

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

“In which of the offices is Kazmah hiding?”

“In nane,” she said dreamily.  “Ye surrounded the buildings too late, I ken.”

“Eh!” cried Kerry, turning his head excitedly.  “But the man Brisley was at the door all night!”

“It doesna’ matter.  They have escapit.”