“That is what I wanted to know. Very well; since you intend to follow the thing up, it simplifies matters somewhat. Here is the car.”
“At Kazmah’s door! What in heaven’s name does it mean?”
“It means that we shall get a very poor reception if we intrude. Question the chauffeur.”
But Gray had already approached the man, who touched his cap in recognition.
“What’s the trouble, Pattison?” he demanded breathlessly. “I saw police in the car a moment ago.”
“Yes, sir. I don’t rightly know, sir, what’s happened. But Mr. Irvin drove from home to the corner of old Bond Street a quarter of an hour ago and told me to wait, then came back again and drove round to Vine Street to fetch the police. They’re inside now.”
Even as he spoke, with excitement ill-concealed, a police-sergeant came out of the doorway, and:
“Move on, there,” he said to Seton and Gray. “You mustn’t hang about this door.”
“Excuse me, Sergeant,” cried Gray, “but if the matter concerns Mrs. Monte Irvin I can probably supply information.”
The Sergeant stared at him hard, saw that both he and his friend wore evening dress, and grew proportionately respectful.