The appearance of the violet-enamelled motor brougham upholstered in cream, and driven by a chauffeur in a violet and cream livery, created some slight sensation in Spenser Road, S.E. Mollie Gretna's conspicuous car was familiar enough to residents in the West End of London, but to lower middle-class suburbia it came as something of a shock. More than one window curtain moved suspiciously, suggesting a hidden but watchful presence, when the glittering vehicle stopped before the gate of number 67; and the lady at number 68 seized an evidently rare opportunity to come out and polish her letter-box.  
She was rewarded by an unobstructed view of the smartest woman in London (thus spake society paragraphers) and of the most expensive set of furs in Europe, also of a perfectly gowned slim figure. Of Mollie's disdainful face, with its slightly uptilted nose, she had no more than a glimpse.
 
A neat maid, evidently Scotch, admitted the dazzling visitor to number 67; and Spenser Road waited and wondered. It was something to do with the Bond Street murder! Small girls appeared from doorways suddenly opened and darted off to advise less-watchful neighbors.
 
Kerry, who had been at work until close upon dawn in the mysterious underworld of Soho was sleeping, but Mrs. Kerry received Mollie in a formal little drawing-room, which, unlike the cosy, homely dining-room, possessed that frigid atmosphere which belongs to uninhabited apartments. In a rather handsome cabinet were a number of trophies associated with the detective's successful cases. The cabinet itself was a present from a Regent Street firm for whom Kerry had recovered valuable property.
 
Mary Kerry, dressed in a plain blouse and skirt, exhibited no trace of nervousness in the presence of her aristocratic and fashionable caller. Indeed, Mollie afterwards declared that “she was quite a ladylike person. But rather tin tabernacley, my dear.”
 
“Did ye wish to see Chief Inspector Kerry parteecularly?” asked Mary, watching her visitor with calm, observant eyes.
 
“Oh, most particularly!” cried Mollie, in a flutter of excitement. “Of course I don't know what you must think of me for calling at such a preposterous hour, but there are some things that simply can't wait.”
 
“Aye,” murmured Mrs. Kerry. “'Twill be yon Bond Street affair?”
 
“Oh, yes, it is, Mrs. Kerry. Doesn't the very name of Bond Street turn your blood cold? I am simply shivering with fear!”
 
“As the wife of a Chief Inspector I am maybe more used to tragedies than yoursel', madam. But it surely is a sair grim business. My husband is resting now. He was hard at work a' the night. Nae doubt ye'll be wishin' tee see him privately?”
 
“Oh, if you please. I am so sorry to disturb him. I can imagine that he must be literally exhausted after spending a whole night among dreadful people.”
 
Mary Kerry stood up.
 
“If ye'll excuse me for a moment I'll awaken him,” she said. “Our household is sma'.”
 
“Oh, of course! I quite understand, Mrs. Kerry! So sorry. But so good of you.”
 
“Might I offer ye a glass o' sherry an' a biscuit?”
 
“I simply couldn't dream of troubling you! Please don't suggest such a thing. I feel covered with guilt already. Many thanks nevertheless.”
 
Mary Kerry withdrew, leaving Mollie alone. As soon as the door closed Mollie stood up and began to inspect the trophies in the cabinet. She was far too restless and excited to remain sitting down. She looked at the presentation clock on the mantelpiece and puzzled over the signatures engraved upon a large silver dish which commemorated the joy displayed by the Criminal Investigation Department upon the occasion of Kerry's promotion to the post of Chief Inspector.
 
The door opened and Kerry came in. He had arisen and completed his toilet in several seconds less than five minutes. But his spotlessly neat attire would have survived inspection by the most lynx-eyed martinet in the Brigade of Guards. As he smiled at his visitor with fierce geniality, Mollie blushed like a young girl.
 
Chief Inspector Kerry was a much bigger man than she had believed him to be. The impression left upon her memory by his brief appearance at the night club had been that of a small, dapper figure. Now, as he stood in the little drawing-room, she saw that he was not much if anything below the average height of Englishmen, and that he possessed wonderfully broad shoulders. In fact, Kerry was deceptive. His compact neatness and the smallness of his feet and hands, together with those swift, lithe movements which commonly belong to men of light physique, curiously combined to deceive the beholder, but masked eleven stones (*note: 1 stone = 14 pounds) of bone and muscle.
 
“Very good of you to offer information, miss,” he said. “I'm willing to admit that I can do with it.”
 
He opened a bureau and took out a writing-block and a fountain pen. Then he turned and stared hard at Mollie. She quickly lowered her eyes.
 
“Excuse me,” said Kerry, “but didn't I see you somewhere last night?”
 
“Yes,” she said. “I was sitting just inside the door at—”
 
“Right! I remember,” interrupted Kerry. He continued to stare. “Before you say any more, miss, I have to remind you that I am a police officer, and that you may be called upon to swear to the truth of any information you may give me.”
 
“Oh, of course! I know.”
 
“You know? Very well, then; we can get on. Who gave you my address?”
 
At the question, so abruptly asked, Mollie felt herself blushing again. It was delightful to know that she could still blush. “Oh—I... that is, I asked Scotland Yard ”
 
She bestowed a swift, half-veiled glance at her interrogator, but he offered her no help, and:
 
“They wouldn't tell me,” she continued. “So—I had to find out. You see, I heard you were trying to get information which I thought perhaps I could give.”
 
“So you went to the trouble to find my private address rather than to the nearest police station,” said Kerry. “Might I ask you from whom you heard that I wanted this information?”
 
“Well—it's in the papers, isn't it?”
 
“It is certainly. But it occurred to me that someone... connected might have told you as well.”
 
“Actually, someone did: Miss Margaret Halley.”
 
“Good!” rapped Kerry. “Now we're coming to it. She told you to come to me?”
 
“Oh, no!” cried Mollie—“she didn't. She told me to tell her so that she could tell the Home office.”
 
“Eh?” said Kerry, “eh?” He bent forward, staring fiercely. “Please tell me exactly what Miss Halley wanted to know.”
 
The intensity of his gaze Mollie found very perturbing, but:
 
“She wanted me to tell her where Mrs. Sin lived,” she replied.
 
Kerry experienced a quickening of the pulse. In the failure of the C.I.D. to trace the abode of the notorious Mrs. Sin he had suspected double-dealing. He counted it unbelievable that a figure so conspicuous in certain circles could evade official quest even for forty-eight hours. K Division's explanation, too, that there were no l............