Climbing down to the yard, he looked quickly about him, ran across, and climbed up to the lighted window.  A moment later he had pushed it widely open.

He was greeted by a stifled cry, but, cautiously transferring his weight from the friendly pipe to the ledge, he got astride of it, one foot in the room.  Then, by exercise of a monkey-like agility, he wriggled his head and shoulders within.

“It’s all right,” he said softly and reassuringly; “I’m Dan Kerry, son of Chief Inspector Kerry.  Can I be of any assistance?”

Her hands clasped convulsively together, the woman stood looking up at him.

“Oh, thank God!” said the captive.  “But what are you going to do?  Can you get me out?”

“Don’t worry,” replied Dan confidently.  “Father and I can manage it all right!”

He performed a singular contortion, as a result of which his other leg and foot appeared inside the window.  Then, twisting around, he lowered himself and dropped triumphantly upon a cushioned divan.  At that moment he would have faced a cage full of man-eating tigers.  The spirit of adventure had him in its grip.  He stood up, breathing rapidly, his crop of red hair more dishevelled than usual.

Then, before he could stir or utter any protest, the golden-haired princess whom he had come to rescue stooped, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him.

“You darling, brave boy!” she said.  “I think you have saved me from madness.”

Young Kerry, more flushed than ever, extricated himself, and: 

“You’re not out of the mess yet,” he protested.  “The only difference is that I’m in it with you!”

“But where is your father?”

“I’m looking for him.”

“What!”

“Oh! he’s about somewhere,” Dan assured her confidently.

“But, but——­” She was gazing at him wide-eyed, “Didn’t he send you here?”

“You bet he didn’t,” returned young Kerry.  “I came here on my own accord, and when I go you’re coming with me.  I can’t make out how you got here, anyway.  Do you know whose house this is?”

“Oh, I do, I do!”

“Whose?”

“It belongs to a man called Chada.”

“Chada?  Never heard of him.  But I mean, what part of London is it in?”

“Whatever do you mean?  It is in Limehouse, I believe.  I don’t understand.  You came here.”

“I didn’t,” said young Kerry cheerfully; “I was fetched!”

“By your father?”

“Not on your life.  By a couple of Chinks!  I’ll tell you something.”  He raised his twinkling blue eyes.  “We are properly up against it.  I suppose you couldn’t climb down a rain-pipe?”

VII

RETRIBUTION

It was that dark, still, depressing hour of the night, when all life is at its lowest ebb.  In the low, strangely perfumed room of books Zani Chada sat before his table, his yellow hands clutching the knobs on his chair arms, his long, inscrutable eyes staring unseeingly before him.