Chief Inspector Kerry was a much bigger man than she had believed him to be. The impression left upon her memory by his brief appearance at the night club had been that of a small, dapper figure. Now, as he stood in the little drawing-room, she saw that he was not much if anything below the average height of Englishmen, and that he possessed wonderfully broad shoulders. In fact, Kerry was deceptive. His compact neatness and the smallness of his feet and hands, together with those swift, lithe movements which commonly belong to men of light physique, curiously combined to deceive the beholder, but masked eleven stones (*note: 1 stone = 14 pounds) of bone and muscle.
“Very good of you to offer information, miss,” he said. “I’m willing to admit that I can do with it.”
He opened a bureau and took out a writing-block and a fountain pen. Then he turned and stared hard at Mollie. She quickly lowered her eyes.
“Excuse me,” said Kerry, “but didn’t I see you somewhere last night?”
“Yes,” she said. “I was sitting just inside the door at—”
“Right! I remember,” interrupted Kerry. He continued to stare. “Before you say any more, miss, I have to remind you that I am a police officer, and that you may be called upon to swear to the truth of any information you may give me.”
“Oh, of course! I know.”
“You know? Very well, then; we can get on. Who gave you my address?”
At the question, so abruptly asked, Mollie felt herself blushing again. It was delightful to know that she could still blush. “Oh—I... that is, I asked Scotland Yard ”
She bestowed a swift, half-veiled glance at her interrogator, but he offered her no help, and: