“Stop!” said Kerry.  “That’s enough.”  He fixed a baleful glance upon Gunn, who from a point of the room discreetly distant from the terrible red man was watching with watery eyes.  “Who’s the smart in all the overcoats?” he demanded.

“My name is James Gunn,” replied this greatly insulted man in a husky voice.

“Who are you?  What are you?  What are you doing here?”

“I’m employed by Spinker’s Agency, and—­”

“Oh!” shouted Kerry, moving his shoulders.  He approached the speaker and glared menacingly into his purple face.  “Ho, ho!  So you’re one of the queer birds out of that roost, are you?  Spinker’s Agency!  Ah, yes!” He fixed his gaze now upon the pale features of Brisley.  “I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?”

“Yes, Chief Inspector,” said Brisley, licking his lips.  “Hayward’s Heath.  We have been retained by—­”

“You have been retained!” shouted Kerry.  “You have!”

He twisted round upon his heel, facing Monte Irvin.  Angry words trembled on his tongue.  But at sight of the broken man who sat there alone, haggard, a subtle change of expression crept into his fierce eyes, and when he spoke again the high-pitched voice was almost gentle.  “You had employed these men, sir, to watch—­”

He paused, glancing towards Whiteleaf, who had just entered again, and then in the direction of the inner room where the divisional surgeon was at work.

“To watch my wife, Inspector.  Thank you, but all the world will know tomorrow.  I might as well get used to it.”

Monte Irvin’s pallor grew positively alarming.  He swayed suddenly and extended his hands in a significant groping fashion.  Kerry sprang forward and supported him.

“All right, Inspector—­all right,” muttered Irvin.  “Thank you.  It has been a great shock.  At first I feared—­”

“You thought your wife had been attacked, I understand?  Well—­it’s not so bad as that, sir.  I am going to walk downstairs to the car with you.”

“But there is so much you will want to know—­”

“It can keep until tomorrow.  I’ve enough work in this peep-show here to have me busy all night.  Come along.  Lean on my arm.”

Monte Irvin rose unsteadily.  He knew that there was cardiac trouble in his family, but he had never realized before the meaning of his heritage.  He felt physically ill.

“Inspector”—­his voice was a mere whisper—­“have you any theory to explain—­”

“Mrs. Irvin’s disappearance?  Don’t worry, sir.  Without exactly having a theory I think I may say that in my opinion she will turn up presently.”

“God bless you,” murmured Irvin, as Kerry assisted him out on to the landing.

Inspector Whiteleaf held back the sliding door, the mechanism of which had been broken so that the door now automatically remained half closed.

“Funny, isn’t it,” said Gunn, as the two disappeared and Inspector Whiteleaf re-entered, “that a man should be so upset about the disappearance of a woman he was going to divorce?”