“Consult your wife,” he kept muttering to himself.  When the door was opened for him by the Chinese servant, he paused a moment before going out into the fog.  There were men on duty at the back and at the front of the house.  Should he risk all and raid the place?  That Lady Rourke was captive here he no longer doubted.  But it was equally certain that no further harm would come to her at the hands of her captors, since she had been traced there and since Zani Chada was well aware of the fact.  Of the whereabouts of Lou Chada he could not be certain.  If he was in the house, they had him.

The door was closed by the Chinaman, and Kerry stood out in the darkness of the dismal, brick-walled street, feeling something as nearly akin to dejection as was possible in one of his mercurial spirit.  Something trickled upon the brim of his hat, and, raising his head, Kerry detected rain upon his upturned face.  He breathed a prayer of thankfulness.  This would put an end to the fog.

He began to walk along by the high brick wall, but had not proceeded far before a muffled figure arose before him and the light of an electric torch was shone into his face.

“Oh, it’s you, Chief Inspector!” came the voice of the watcher.

“It is,” rapped Kerry.  “Unless there are tunnels under this old rat-hole, I take it the men on duty can cover all the exits?”

“All the main exits,” was the reply.  “But, as you say, it’s a strange house, and Zani Chada has a stranger reputation.”

“Do nothing until you hear from me.”

“Very good, Chief Inspector.”

The rain now was definitely conquering the fog, and in half the time which had been occupied by the outward journey Kerry was back again in Limehouse police station.  Unconsciously he had been hastening his pace with every stride, urged onward by an unaccountable anxiety, so that finally he almost ran into the office and up to the desk where the telephone stood.

Lifting it, he called his own number and stood tapping his foot, impatiently awaiting the reply.  Presently came the voice of the operator:  “Have they answered yet?”

“No.”

“I will ring them again.”

Kerry’s anxiety became acute, almost unendurable; and when at last, after repeated attempts, no reply could be obtained from his home, he replaced the receiver and leaned for a moment on the desk, shaken with such a storm of apprehension as he had rarely known.  He turned to the inspector in charge, and: 

“Let me have that envelope I left with you,” he directed.  “And have someone ’phone for a taxi; they are to keep on till they get one.  Where is Sergeant Durham?”

“At the mortuary.”

“Ah!”

“Any developments, Chief Inspector?”

“Yes.  But apart from keeping a close watch upon the house of Zani Chada you are to do nothing until you hear from me again.”

“Very good,” said the inspector.  “Are you going to wait for Durham’s report?”