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.

"What is your name, sir?" he asked. "I'll mention it to the officer in
charge."

"Quentin Gray. Inform Mr. Monte Irvin that I wish to speak to him."

"Very good, sir." He turned to the chauffeur. "Hand me out the bag I