“Thank you, sir,” he added, “you are always right. I shall be ready on Tuesday. I suppose you are off again, Seton?”
“I am,” was the reply. “Chief Inspector Kerry is moving heaven and earth to find the Kazmah establishment, and I don’t want to come in a poor second.”
Lord Wrexborough cleared his throat and turned in the padded revolving chair.
“Honestly, Seton,” he said, “what do you think of your chance of success?”
Seton Pasha smiled grimly.
“Many ascribe success to wit,” he replied, “and failure to bad luck; but the Arab says ‘Kismet.’”
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THE SONG OF SIN SIN WA
Mrs. Sin, aroused by her husband from the deep opium sleep, came out into the fume-laden vault. Her dyed hair was disarranged, and her dark eyes stared glassily before her; but even in this half-drugged state she bore herself with the lithe carriage of a dancer, swinging her hips lazily and pointing the toes of her high-heeled slippers.
“Awake, my wife,” crooned Sin Sin Wa. “Only a fool seeks the black smoke when the jackals sit in a ring.”
Mrs. Sin gave him a glance of smiling contempt—a glance which, passing him, rested finally upon the prone body of Chief Inspector Kerry lying stretched upon the floor before the stove. Her pupils contracted to mere pin-points and then dilated blackly. She recoiled a step, fighting with the stupor which her ill-timed indulgence had left behind.