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  CHAPTER VI. RED KERRY

  Chief Inspector Kerry, of the Criminal Investigation Department, stoodbefore the empty grate of his cheerless office in New Scotland Yard,one hand thrust into the pocket of his blue reefer jacket and the othertwirling a malacca cane, which was heavily silver-mounted and whichmust have excited the envy of every sergeant-major beholding it. ChiefInspector Kerry wore a very narrow-brimmed bowler hat, having twoventilation holes conspicuously placed immediately above the band. Hewore this hat tilted forward and to the right.

  "Red Kerry" wholly merited his sobriquet, for the man was as redas fire. His hair, which he wore cropped close as a pugilist's, wasbrilliantly red, and so was his short, wiry, aggressive moustache.His complexion was red, and from beneath his straight red eyebrows hesurveyed the world with a pair of unblinking, intolerant steel-blueeyes. He never smoked in public, as his taste inclined towardsIrish twist and a short clay pipe; but he was addicted to the use ofchewing-gum, and as he chewed--and he chewed incessantly--he revealed aperfect row of large, white, and positively savage-looking teeth. Highcheek bones and prominent maxillary muscles enhanced the truculenceindicated by his chin.

  But, next to this truculence, which was the first and most alarmingtrait to intrude itself upon the observer's attention, the outstandingcharacteristic of Chief Inspector Kerry was his compact neatness. Of nomore than medium height but with shoulders like an acrobat, he had slim,straight legs and the feet of a dancing master. His attire, from thesquare-pointed collar down to the neat black brogues, was spotless.His reefer jacket fitted him faultlessly, but his trousers were cut sounfashionably narrow that the protuberant thigh muscles and the lineof a highly developed calf could quite easily be discerned. The handtwirling the cane was small but also muscular, freckled and covered withlight down. Red Kerry was built on the lines of a whippet, but carriedthe equipment of an Irish terrier.

  The telephone bell rang. Inspector Kerry moved his square shoulders ina manner oddly suggestive of a wrestler, laid the malacca cane on themantleshelf, and crossed to the table. Taking up the telephone:

  "Yes?" he said, and his voice was high-pitched and imperious.

  He listened for a moment.

  "Very good, sir."

  He replaced the receiver, took up a wet oilskin overall from the back ofa chair and the cane from the mantleshelf. Then rolling chewing-gumfrom one corner of his mouth into the other, he snapped off the electriclight and walked from the room.

  Along the corridor he went with a lithe, silent step, moving from thehips and swinging his shoulders. Before a door marked "Private" hepaused. From his waistcoat pocket he took a little silver convex mirrorand surveyed himself critically therein. He adjusted his neat tie,replaced the mirror, knocked at the door and entered the room of theAssistant Commissioner.

  This important official was a man constructed on huge principles, aman of military bearing, having tired eyes and a bewildered manner.He conveyed the impression that the collection of documents, books,telephones, and other paraphernalia bestrewing his table had reduced himto a state of stupor. He looked up wearily and met the fierce gaze ofthe chief inspector with a glance almost apologetic.

  "Ah, Chief Inspector Kerry?" he said, with vague surprise. "Yes. I toldyou to come. Really, I ought to have been at home hours ago. It'smost unfortunate. I have to do the work of three men. This is yourdepartment, is it not, Chief Inspector?"

  He handed Kerry a slip of paper, at which the Chief Inspector staredfiercely.

  "Murder!" rapped Kerry. "Sir Lucien Pyne. Yes, sir, I am still on duty."

  His speech, in moments of interest, must have suggested to oneoverhearing him from an adjoining room, for instance, the operation of atelegraphic instrument. He gave to every syllable the value of a rap andcertain words he terminated with an audible snap of his teeth.

  "Ah," murmured the Assistant Commissioner. "Yes. DivisionalInspector--Somebody (I cannot read the name) has detained all theparties. But you had better report at Vine Street. It appears to be abig case."

  He sighed wearily.

  "Very good, sir. With your permission I will glance at Sir Lucien'spedigree."

  "Certainly--certainly," said the Assistant Commissioner, waving onelarge hand in the direction of a bookshelf.

  Kerry crossed the room, laid his oilskin and cane upon a chair, andfrom the shelf where it reposed took a squat volume. The AssistantCommissioner, hand pressed to brow, began to study a document which laybefore him.

  "Here we are," said Kerry, sotto voce. "Pyne, Sir Lucien St. Aubyn,fourth baronet, son of General Sir Christian Pyne, K.C.B. H'm! BornMalta.... Oriel College; first in classics.... H'm. Blue.... India,Burma.... Contested Wigan.... attached British Legation. ... H'm!..."

  He returned the book to its place, took up his overall and cane, and:

  "Very good, sir," he said. "I will proceed to Vine Street."

  "Certainly--certainly," murmured the Assistant Commissioner, glancing upabsently. "Good night."

  "Good night, sir."

  "Oh, Chief Inspector!"

  Kerry turned, his hand on the door-knob.

  "Sir?"

  "I--er--what was I going to say? Oh, yes! The social importance ofthe murdered man raises the case from the--er--you follow me? Publicinterest will become acute, no doubt. I have therefore selected youfor your well known discretion. I met Sir Lucien once. Very sad. Goodnight."

  "Good night, sir."

  Kerry passed out into the corridor, closing the door quietly. TheAssistant Commissioner was a man for whom he entertained the highestrespect. Despite the bewildered air and wandering manner, he knew thisbig, tired-looking soldier for an administrator of infinite capacity andinexhaustive energy.

  Proceeding to a room further along the corridor, Chief Inspector Kerryopened the door and looked in.

  "Detective-Sergeant Coombes." he snapped, and rolled chewing-gum fromside to side of his mouth.

  Detective-Sergeant Coombes, a plump, short man having lank black hairand a smile of sly contentment perpetually adorning his round face, rosehurriedly from the chair upon which he had been seated. Another man whowas in the room rose also, as if galvanized by the glare of the fierceblue eyes.

  "I'm going to Vine Street," said Kerry succinctly; "you're coming withme," turned, and went on his way.

  Two taxicabs were standing in the yard, and into the first of theseInspector Kerry stepped, followed by Coombes, the latter breathingheavily and carrying his hat in his hand, since he had not yet foundtime to put it on.

  "Vine Street," shouted Kerry. "Brisk."

  He leaned back in the cab, chewing industriously. Coombes, havingsomewhat recovered his breath, essayed speech.

  "Is it something big?" he asked.

  "Sure," snapped Kerry. "Do they send me to stop dog-fights?"

  Knowing the man and recognizing the mood, Coombes became silent,and this silence he did not break all the way to Vine Street. At thestation:

  "Wait," said Chief Inspector Kerry, and went swinging in, carrying hisoverall and having the malacca cane tucked under his arm.

  A few minutes later he came out again and reentered the cab.

  "Piccadilly corner of Old Bond Street," he directed the man.

  "Is it burglary?" asked Detective-Sergeant Coombes with interest.

  "No," said Kerry. "It's murder; and there seems to be stacks ofevidence. Sharpen your pencil."

  "Oh!" murmured Coombes.

  They were almost immediately at their destination, and Chief InspectorKerry, dismissing the cabman, set off along Bond Street with his lithe,swinging gait, looking all about him intently. Rain had ceased, but theair was damp and chilly, and few pedestrians were to be seen.

  A car was standing before Kazmah's premises, the chauffeur walking upand down on the pavement and flapping his hands across his chest inorder to restore circulation. The Chief Inspector stopped, "Hi, my man!"he said.

  The chauffeur stood still.

  "Whose car?"

  "Mr. Monte Irvin's."r />
  Kerry turned on his heel and stepped to the office door. It was ajar,and Kerry, taking an electric torch from his overall pocket, flashed thelight upon the name-plate. He stood for a moment, chewing and looking upthe darkened stairs. Then, torch in hand he ascended.

  Kazmah's door was closed, and the Chief Inspector rapped loudly. Itwas opened at once by Sergeant Burton, and Kerry entered, followed byCoombes.

  The room at first sight seemed to be extremely crowded. Monte Irvin,very pale and haggard, sat upon the divan beside Quentin Gray. Setonwas standing near the cabinet, smoking. These three had evidently beenconversing at the time of the detective's arrival with an alert-looking,clean-shaven man whose bag, umbrella, and silk hat stood upon one of thelittle inlaid tables. Just inside the second door were Brisley and Gunn,both palpably ill at ease, and glancing at Inspector Whiteleaf, who hadbeen interrogating them.

  Kerry chewed silently for a moment, bestowing a fierce stare upon eachface in turn, then:

  "Who's in charge?" he snapped.

  "I am," replied Whiteleaf.

  "Why is the lower door open?"

  "I thought--"

  "Don't think. Shut the door. Post your Sergeant inside. No one is to goout. Grab anybody who comes in. Where's the body?"

  "This way," said Inspector Whiteleaf hurriedly; then, over his shoulder:"Go down to the door, Burton."

  He led Kerry towards the inner room, Coombes at his heels. Brisley andGunn stood aside to give them passage; Gray and Monte Irvin prepared tofollow. At the doorway Kerry turned.

  "You will all be good enough to stay where you are," he said. Hedirected the aggressive stare in Seton's direction. "And if thegentleman smoking a cheroot is not satisfied that he has quite destroyedany clue perceptible by the sense of smell I should be glad to send outfor some fireworks."

  He tossed his oilskin and his cane on the divan and went into the roomof seance, savagely biting at a piece of apparently indestructiblechewing-gum.

  The torn green curtain had been laid aside and the electric lightsturned on in the inside rooms. Pallid, Sir Lucien Pyne lay by the ebonychair glaring horribly upward.

  Always with the keen eyes glancing this way and that, Inspector Kerrycrossed the little audience room and entered the enclosure containedbetween the two screens. By the side of the dead man he stood, lookingdown silently. Then he dropped upon one knee and peered closely into thewhite face. He looked up.

  "He has not been moved?"

  "No."

  Kerry bent yet lower, staring closely at a discolored abrasion on SirLucien's forehead. His glance wandered from thence to the carved ebonychair. Still kneeling, he drew from his waistcoat pocket a powerful lenscontained in a washleather bag. He began to examine the back and sidesof the chair. Once he laid his finger lightly on a protruding pointof the carving, and then scrutinised his finger through the glass. Heexamined the dead man's hands, his nails, his garments. Then he crawledabout, peering closely at the carpet.

  He stood up suddenly. "The doctor," he snapped.

  Inspector Whiteleaf retired, but returned immediately with theclean-shaven man to whom Monte Irvin had been talking when Kerryarrived.

  "Good evening, doctor," said Kerry. "Do I know your name? Start yournotes, Coombes."

  "My name is Dr. Wilbur Weston, and I live in Albemarle Street."

  "Who called you?"

  "Inspector Whiteleaf telephoned to me about half an hour ago."

  "You examined the dead man?"

  "I did."

  "You avoided moving him?"

  "It was unnecessary to move him. He was dead, and the wound was in theleft shoulder. I pulled his coat open and unbuttoned his shirt. That wasall."

  "How long dead?"

  "I should say he had been dead not more than an hour when I saw him."

  "What had caused death?"

  "The stab of some long, narrow-bladed weapon, such as a stiletto."

  "Why a stiletto?" Kerry's fierce eyes challenged him. "Did you ever seea wound made by a stiletto?"

  "Several--in Italy, and one at Saffron Hill. They are characterised byvery little external bleeding."

  "Right, doctor. It had reached his heart?"

  "Yes. The blow was delivered from behind."

  "How do you know?"

  "The direction of the wound is forward. I have seen an almost identicalwound in the case of an Italian woman stabbed by a jealous rival."

  "He would fall on his back."

  "Oh, no. He would fall on his face, almost certainly."

  "But he lies on his back."

  "In my opinion he had been moved."

  "Right. I know he had. Good night, doctor. See him out, Inspector."

  Dr. Weston seemed rather startled by this abrupt dismissal, but thesteel-blue eyes of Inspector Kerry were already bent again upon thedead man, and, murmuring "good night," the doctor took his departure,followed by Whiteleaf.

  "Shut this door," snapped Kerry after the Inspector. "I will call when Iwant you. You stay, Coombes. Got it all down?"

  Sergeant Coombes scratched his head with the end of a pencil, and:

  "Yes," he said, with hesitancy. "That is, except the word after'narrow-bladed weapon such as a' I've got what looks like 'steelhatto.'"

  Kerry glared.

  "Try taking the cotton-wool out of your ears," he suggested. "The wordwas stiletto, s-t-i-l-e-t-t-o--stiletto."

  "Oh," said Coombes, "thanks."

  Silence fell between the two men from Scotland Yard. Kerry stood awhile,chewing and staring at the ghastly face of Sir Lucien. Then:

  "Go through all pockets," he directed.

  Sergeant Coombes placed his notebook and pencil upon the seat of thechair and set to work. Kerry entered the inside room or office. Itcontained a writing-table (upon which was a telephone and a pile of oldnewspapers), a cabinet, and two chairs. Upon one of the chairs laya crush-hat, a cane, and an overcoat. He glanced at some of thenewspapers, then opened the drawers of the writing-table. They wereempty. The cabinet proved to be locked, and a door which he saw mustopen upon a narrow passage running beside the suite of rooms was lockedalso. There was nothing in the pockets of the overcoat, but inside thehat he found pasted the initials L. P. He rolled chewing-gum, staredreflectively at the little window immediately above the table, throughwhich a glimpse might be obtained of the ebony chair, and went outagain.

  "Nothing," reported Coombes.

  "What do you mean--nothing?"

  "His pockets are empty!"

  "All of them?"

  "Every one."

  "Good," said Kerry. "Make a note of it. He wears a real pearl stud and agood signet ring; also a gold wrist watch, face broken and hands stoppedat seven-fifteen. That was the time he died. He was stabbed from behindas he stood where I'm standing now, fell forward, struck his head on theleg of the chair, and lay face downwards."

  "I've got that," muttered Coombes. "What stopped the watch?"

  "Broken as he fell. There are tiny fragments of glass stuck in thecarpet, showing the exact position in which his body originally lay; andfor God's sake stop smiling."

  Kerry threw open the door.

  "Who first found the body?" he demanded of the silent company.

  "I did," cried Quentin Gray, coming forward. "I and Seton Pasha."

  "Seton Pasha!" Kerry's teeth snapped together, so that he seemed to biteoff the words. "I don't see a Turk present."

  Seton smiled quietly.

  "My friend uses a title which was conferred upon me some years ago bythe ex-Khedive," he said. "My name is Greville Seton."

  Inspector Kerry glanced back across his shoulder.

  "Notes," he said. "Unlock your ears, Coombes." He looked at Gray. "Whatis your name?"

  "Quentin Gray."

  "Who are you, and in what way are you concerned in this case?"

  "I am the son of Lord Wrexborough, and I--"

  He paused, glancing helplessly at Seton. He had recognized that thefirst mention of Rita Irvin's name in the po
lice evidence must be madeby himself.

  "Speak up, sir," snapped Kerry. "Sergeant Coombes is deaf."

  Gray's face flushed, and his eyes gleamed angrily.

  "I should be glad, Inspector," he said, "if you would remember thatthe dead man was a personal acquaintance and that other friends areconcerned in this ghastly affair."

  "Coombes will remember it," replied Kerry frigidly. "He's taking notes."

  "Look here--" began Gray.

  Seton laid his hand upon the angry man's shoulder.

  "Pull up, Gray," he said quietly. "Pull up, old chap." He turned hiscool regard upon Chief Inspector Kerry, twirling the cord of his monocleabout one finger. "I may remark, Inspector Kerry--for I understandthis to be your name--that your conduct of the inquiry is not alwayscharacterised by the best possible taste."

  Kerry rolled chewing-gum, meeting Seton's gaze with a stare intolerantand aggressive. He imparted that odd writhing movement to his shoulders.

  "For my conduct I am responsible to the Commissioner," he replied. "Andif he's not satisfied the Commissioner can have my written resignationat any hour in the twenty-four that he's short of a pipe-lighter. Ifit would not inconvenience you to keep quiet for two minutes I willcontinue my examination of this witness."