As he turned, the light of a neighboring lamp shone down upon the savage face, and a smothered yell came from the shorter ruffian: 

“Blimey, Bill!  It’s Red Kerry!”

Whereupon, as men pursued by devils, the pair made off like the wind!

Kerry glared after the retreating figures for a moment, and a grin of fierce satisfaction revealed his gleaming teeth.  He turned again and swung on his way toward the main road.  The incident had done him good.  It had banished domestic matters from his mind, and he was become again the highly trained champion of justice, standing, an unseen buckler, between society and the criminal.

CHAPTER IX

A PACKET OF CIGARETTES

Following their dismissal by Chief Inspector Kerry, Seton and Gray walked around to the latter’s chambers in Piccadilly.  They proceeded in silence, Gray too angry for speech, and Seton busy with reflections.  As the man admitted them: 

“Has anyone ’phoned, Willis?” asked Gray.

“No one, sir.”

They entered a large room which combined the characteristics of a library with those of a military gymnasium.  Gray went to a side table and mixed drinks.  Placing a glass before Seton, he emptied his own at a draught.

“If you’ll excuse me for a moment,” he said, “I should like to ring up and see if by any possible chance there’s news of Rita.”

He walked out to the telephone, and Seton heard him making a call.  Then: 

“Hullo!  Is that you, Hinkes?” he asked. . . .  “Yes, speaking.  Is Mrs. Irvin at home?”

A few moments of silence followed, and: 

“Thanks!  Good-bye,” said Gray.

He rejoined his friend.

“Nothing,” he reported, and made a gesture of angry resignation.  “Evidently Hinkes is still unaware of what has happened.  Irvin hasn’t returned yet.  Seton, this business is driving me mad.”

He refilled his glass, and having looked in his cigarette-case, began to ransack a small cupboard.

“Damn it all!” he exclaimed.  “I haven’t got a cigarette in the place!”

“I don’t smoke them myself,” said Seton, “but I can offer you a cheroot.”

“Thanks.  They are a trifle too strong.  Hullo! here are some.”

From the back of a shelf he produced a small, plain brown packet, and took out of it a cigarette at which he stared oddly.  Seton, smoking one of the inevitable cheroots, watched him, tapping his teeth with the rim of his eyeglass.

“Poor old Pyne!” muttered Gray, and, looking up, met the inquiring glance.  “Pyne left these here only the other day,” he explained awkwardly.  “I don’t know where he got them, but they are something very special.  I suppose I might as well.”

He lighted one, and, uttering a weary sigh, threw himself into a deep leather-covered arm-chair.  Almost immediately he was up again.  The telephone bell had rung.  His eyes alight with hope, he ran out, leaving the door open so that his conversation was again audible to the visitor.