expression matched his. She was tall, dark, good-looking in a massive way,
with a splendid, almost unfeminine strength in her firm, shapely mouth and
brilliant eyes. Her manner was a little brusque but her voice pleasant.
She was one of those who had learnt the art of silence.

The criminologist glanced through the papers quickly and sorted them into
two little heaps.

"Send these," he directed, "to the police-station. There is nothing in
them which calls for outside intervention. They are all matters which had
better take their normal course. To the others simply reply that the
matter they refer to does not interest me. No further enquiries?"

"Nothing, Mr. Quest."

She left the room almost noiselessly. Quest took down a volume from the
swinging book-case by his side, and drew the reading lamp a little closer
to his right shoulder. Before he opened the volume, however, he looked for
a few moments steadfastly out across the sea of roofs, the network of
telephone and telegraph wires, to where the lights of Broadway seemed to
eat their way into the sky. Around him, the night life of the great city
spread itself out in waves of gilded vice and black and sordid crime. Its
many voices fell upon deaf ears. Until long past midnight, he sat
engrossed in a scientific volume.




CHAPTER II