“I’m with you.  By ‘another’ you mean?”

“Sir Lucien!  It’s horrible, but I’m afraid it’s true.”

They became silent for a while.  Kerry chewed and Seton smoked.  Then: 

“The significance of the fact that Sir Lucien’s study window was no more than forty paces across the leads from a well-oiled window of the Cubanis Company will not have escaped you,” said Seton.  “I performed the journey just ahead of you, I believe.  Then Sir Lucien had lived in Buenos Ayres; that was before he came into the title, and at a time, I am told, when he was not overburdened with wealth.  His man, Mareno, is indisputably some kind of a South American, and he can give no satisfactory account of his movements on the night of the murder.

“That we have to deal with a powerful drug syndicate there can be no doubt.  The late Sir Lucien may not have been a director, but I feel sure he was financially interested.  Kazmah’s was the distributing office, and the importer—­”

“Was Sin Sin Wa!” cried Kerry, his eyes gleaming savagely.  “He’s as clever and cunning as all the rest of Chinatown put together.  Somewhere not a hundred miles from this spot where we are now there’s a store of stuff big enough to dope all Europe!”

“And there’s something else,” said Seton quietly, knocking a cone of grey ash from his cheroot on to the dirty floor.  “Kazmah is hiding there in all probability, if he hasn’t got clear away—­and Mrs. Monte Irvin is being held a prisoner!”

“If they haven’t—­”

“For Irvin’s sake I hope not, Chief Inspector.  There are two very curious points in the case—­apart from the mystery which surrounds the man Kazmah:  the fact that Mareno, palpably an accomplice, stayed to face the music, and the fact that Sin Sin Wa likewise has made no effort to escape.  Do you see what it means?  They are covering the big man—­Kazmah.  Once he and Mrs. Irvin are out of the way, we can prove nothing against Mareno and Sin Sin Wa!  And the most we could do for Mrs. Sin would be to convict her of selling opium.”

“To do even that we should have to take a witness to court,” said Kerry gloomily; “and all the satisfaction we’d get would be to see her charged ten pounds!”

Silence fell between them again.  It was that kind of sympathetic silence which is only possible where harmony exists; and, indeed, of all the things strange and bizarre which characterized the inquiry, this sudden amity between Kerry and Seton Pasha was not the least remarkable.  It represented the fruit of a mutual respect.

There was something about the lean, unshaven face of Seton Pasha, and something, too, in his bright grey eyes which, allowing for difference of coloring, might have reminded a close observer of Kerry’s fierce countenance.  The tokens of iron determination and utter indifference to danger were perceptible in both.  And although Seton was dark and turning slightly grey, while Kerry was as red as a man well could be, that they possessed several common traits of character was a fact which the dissimilarity of their complexions wholly failed to conceal.  But while Seton Pasha hid the grimness of his nature beneath a sort of humorous reserve, the dangerous side of Kerry was displayed in his open truculence.