Following their dismissal by Chief Inspector Kerry, Seton and Gray walked around to the latter's chambers in Piccadilly. They proceeded in silence, Gray too angry for speech, and Seton busy with reflections. As the man admitted them:  
“Has anyone 'phoned, Willis?” asked Gray.
 
“No one, sir.”
 
They entered a large room which combined the characteristics of a library with those of a military gymnasium. Gray went to a side table and mixed drinks. Placing a glass before Seton, he emptied his own at a draught.
 
“If you'll excuse me for a moment,” he said, “I should like to ring up and see if by any possible chance there's news of Rita.”
 
He walked out to the telephone, and Seton heard him making a call. Then:
 
“Hullo! Is that you, Hinkes?” he asked.... “Yes, speaking. Is Mrs. Irvin at home?”
 
A few moments of silence followed, and:
 
“Thanks! Good-bye,” said Gray.
 
He rejoined his friend.
 
“Nothing,” he reported, and made a gesture of angry resignation. “Evidently Hinkes is still unaware of what has happened. Irvin hasn't returned yet. Seton, this business is driving me mad.”
 
He refilled his glass, and having looked in his cigarette-case, began to ransack a small cupboard.
 
“Damn it all!” he exclaimed. “I haven't got a cigarette in the place!”
 
“I don't smoke them myself,” said Seton, “but I can offer you a cheroot.”
 
“Thanks. They are a trifle too strong. Hullo! here are some.”
 
From the back of a shelf he produced a small, plain brown packet, and took out of it a cigarette at which he stared oddly. Seton, smoking one of the inevitable cheroots, watched him, tapping his teeth with the rim of his eyeglass.
 
“Poor old Pyne!” muttered Gray, and, looking up, met the inquiring glance. “Pyne left these here only the other day,” he explained awkwardly. “I don't know where he got them, but they are something very special. I suppose I might as well.”
 
He lighted one, and, uttering a weary sigh, threw himself into a deep leather-covered arm-chair. Almost immediately he was up again. The telephone bell had rung. His eyes alight with hope, he ran out, leaving the door open so that his conversation was again audible to the visitor.
 
“Yes, yes, speaking. What?” His tone changed “Oh, it's you, Margaret. What?... Certainly, delighted. No, there's nobody here but old Seton Pasha. What? You've heard the fellows talk about him who were out East.... Yes, that's the chap.... Come right along.”
 
“You don't propose to lionise me, I hope, Gray?” said Seton, as Gray returned to his seat.
 
The other laughed.
 
“I forgot you could hear me,” he admitted. “It's my cousin, Margaret Halley. You'll like her. She's a tip-top girl, but eccentric. Goes in for pilling.”
 
“Pilling?” inquired Seton gravely.
 
“Doctoring. She's an M.R.C.S., and only about twenty-four or so. Fearfully clever kid; makes me feel an infant.”
 
“Flat heels, spectacles, and a judicial manner?”
 
“Flat heels, yes. But not the other. She's awfully pretty, and used to look simply terrific in khaki. She was an M.O. in Serbia, you know, and afterwards at some nurses' hospital in Kent. She's started in practice for herself now round in Dover Street. I wonder what she wants.”
 
Silence fell between them; for, although prompted by different reasons, both were undesirous of discussing the tragedy; and this silence prevailed until the ringing of the doorbell announced the arrival of the girl. Willis opening the door, she entered composedly, and Gray introduced Seton.
 
“I am so glad to have met you at last, Mr. Seton,” she said laughingly. “From Quentin's many accounts I had formed the opinion that you were a kind of Arabian Nights myth.”
 
“I am glad to disappoint you,” replied Seton, finding something very refreshing in the company of this pretty girl, who wore a creased Burberry, and stray locks of whose abundant bright hair floated about her face in the most careless fashion imaginable.
 
She turned to her cousin, frowning in a rather puzzled way.
 
“Whatever have you been burning here?” she asked. “There is such a curious smell in the room.”<............