“Quick! quick!” he cried breathlessly, grasping Lady Pat's hand. “This is where we run!”
In such fashion was Zani Chada interrupted, the interruption taking the form of a sudden, shrill outcry:
“Dad! dad! Where are you, dad?”
Kerry spun about as a man galvanized. His face became transfigured.
“This way, Dan!” he cried. “This way, boy!”
Came a clatter of hurrying feet, and into the low, perfumed room burst Dan Kerry, junior, tightly clasping the hand of a pale-faced, dishevelled woman in evening dress. It was Lady Rourke; and although she seemed to be in a nearly fainting condition, Dan dragged her, half running, into the room.
Kerry gave one glance at the pair, then, instantly, he turned to face Zani Chada. The latter, like a man of stone, sat in his carved chair, eyes nearly closed. The Chief Inspector whipped out a whistle and raised it to his lips. He blew three blasts upon it.
From one—two—three—four points around the house the signal was answered.
Zani Chada fully opened his long, basilisk eyes.
“You win, Chief Inspector,” he said. “But much may be done by clever counsel. If all fails———”