Seton Pasha smiled grimly and changed the topic.
“Let us see,” he said, “if we are any nearer to the heart of the mystery of Kazmah. You were at the Regent Street bank today, I understand, at which the late Sir Lucien Pyne had an account?”
“I was,” replied Kerry. “Next to his theatrical enterprises his chief source of income seems to have been a certain Jose Santos Company, of Buenos Ayres. We’ve traced Kazmah’s account, too. But no one at the bank has ever seen him. The missing Rashîd always paid in. Checks were signed ‘Mohammed el-Kazmah,’ in which name the account had been opened. From the amount standing to his credit there it’s evident that the proceeds of the dope business went elsewhere.”
“Where do you think they went?” asked Seton quietly, watching Kerry.
“Well,” rapped Kerry, “I think the same as you. I’ve got two eyes and I can see out of both of them.”
“And you think?”
“I think they went to the Jose Santos Company, of Buenos Ayres!”
“Right!” cried Seton. “I feel sure of it. We may never know how it was all arranged or who was concerned, but I am convinced that Mr. Isaacs, lessee of the Cubanis Cigarette Company offices, Mr. Jacobs (my landlord!), Mohammed el-Kazmah—whoever he may be—the untraceable Mrs. Sin Sin Wa, and another, were all shareholders of the Jose Santos company.”
“I’m with you. By ‘another’ you mean?”
“Sir Lucien! It’s horrible, but I’m afraid it’s true.”