"Very good, sir."

He replaced the receiver, took up a wet oilskin overall from the back
of a chair and the cane from the mantleshelf. Then rolling chewing-gum
from one corner of his mouth into the other, he snapped off the
electric light and walked from the room.

Along the corridor he went with a lithe, silent step, moving from the
hips and swinging his shoulders. Before a door marked "Private" he
paused. From his waistcoat pocket he took a little silver convex
mirror and surveyed himself critically therein. He adjusted his neat
tie, replaced the mirror, knocked at the door and entered the room of
the Assistant Commissioner.

This important official was a man constructed on huge principles, a
man of military bearing, having tired eyes and a bewildered manner. He
conveyed the impression that the collection of documents, books,
telephones, and other paraphernalia bestrewing his table had reduced
him to a state of stupor. He looked up wearily and met the fierce gaze
of the chief inspector with a glance almost apologetic.

"Ah, Chief Inspector Kerry?" he said, with vague surprise. "Yes. I
told you to come. Really, I ought to have been at home hours ago. It's
most unfortunate. I have to do the work of three men. This is your
department, is it not, Chief Inspector?"

He handed Kerry a slip of paper, at which the Chief Inspector stared
fiercely.

"Murder!" rapped Kerry. "Sir Lucien Pyne. Yes, sir, I am still on