This door was locked.
"Pyne!" whispered Gray, pale now to the lips. "Do you understand,
Seton? It's Pyne! Look! He has been stabbed!"
Sergeant Burton knelt down and gingerly laid his hand upon the stained
linen over the breast of Sir Lucien.
"Dead?" asked the Inspector, speaking from the inner doorway.
"Yes."
"You say, sir," turning to Quentin Gray, "that this is Sir Lucien
Pyne?"
"Yes."
Inspector Whiteleaf rather clumsily removed his cap. The odor of
Seton's cheroot announced itself above the oriental perfume with which
the place was laden.
"Burton!"
"Yes?"
"See if this telephone in the office is in order. It appears to be an
extension from the outer room."
While the others stood grouped about that still figure on the floor,
Sergeant Burton entered the little office.
"Hello!" he cried. "Yes?" A momentary interval, then: "It's all right,
sir. What number?"
"Gentlemen," said the Inspector, firmly and authoritatively, "I am
about to telephone to Vine Street for instructions. No one will leave
the premises."
Amid an intense hush:
"Regent 201," called Sergeant Burton.
CHAPTER VI
RED KERRY
Chief Inspector Kerry, of the Criminal Investigation Department, stood
before the empty grate of his cheerless office in New Scotland Yard,
one hand thrust into the pocket of his blue reefer jacket and the
other twirling a malacca cane, which was heavily silver-mounted and
which must have excited the envy of every sergeant-major beholding it.
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