“If my cabman had not been such a... fool,” broke in Denise Ryland, clasping her hands, “we should have had a different... tale to tell.”

“I have no wish to reproach anybody,” said Dunbar, sternly; “but I feel called upon to remark, madam, that you ought to have known better than to interfere in a case like this; a case in which we are dealing with a desperate and clever gang.”

For once in her life Denise Ryland found herself unable to retort suitably.  The mildly reproachful gaze of Leroux she could not meet; and although Dr. Cumberly had spoken no word of complaint against her, from his pale face she persistently turned away her eyes.

The cabman having departed, the door almost immediately reopened, and Sergeant Sowerby came in.

“Ah! there you are, Sowerby!” cried Dunbar, standing up and leaning eagerly across the table.  “You have the particulars respecting the limousine?”

Sergeant Sowerby, removing his hat and carefully placing it upon the only vacant chair in the room, extracted a bulging notebook from a pocket concealed beneath his raincoat, cleared his throat, and reported as follows: 

“There is only one car known to members of that division which answers to the description of the one wanted.  This is a high-power, French car which seems to have been registered first in Paris, where it was made, then in Cairo, and lastly in London.  It is the property of the gentleman whose telephone number is 18642 East—­Mr. I. Gianapolis; and the reason of its frequent presence in the neighborhood of the West India Dock Road, is this:  it is kept in a garage in Wharf-End Lane, off Limehouse Causeway.  I have interviewed two constables at present on that beat, and they tell me that there is nothing mysterious about the car except that the chauffeur is a foreigner who speaks no English.  He is often to be seen cleaning the car in the garage, and both the men are in the habit of exchanging good evening with him when passing the end of the lane.  They rarely go that far, however, as it leads nowhere.”

“But if you have the telephone number of this man, Gianapolis,” cried Dr. Cumberly, “you must also have his address"...

“We obtained both from the Eastern Exchange,” interrupted Inspector Dunbar.  “The instrument, number 18642 East, is installed in an office in Globe Road.  The office, which is situated in a converted private dwelling, bears a brass plate simply inscribed, ’I.  Gianapolis, London and Smyrna.’”

“What is the man’s reputed business?” jerked Cumberly.

“We have not quite got to the bottom of that, yet,” replied Sowerby; “but he is an agent of some kind, and evidently in a large way of business, as he runs a very fine car, and seems to live principally in different hotels.  I am told that he is an importer of Turkish cigarettes and"...

“He is an importer and exporter of hashish!” snapped Dunbar irritably.  “If I could clap my eyes upon him I should know him at once!  I tell you, Sowerby, he is the man who was convicted last year of exporting hashish to Egypt in faked packing cases which contained pottery ware, ostensibly, but had false bottoms filled with cakes of hashish"...