You're going shopping?"
"I am, Dan. I'd ha' started, but I wanted to see ye when ye came hame.
If ye've only three hours go straight up the now. I'll ha' something
hot a' ready when ye waken."
Ten minutes later Kerry was in bed, his short clay pipe between his
teeth, and The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius in his hand. Such was
his customary sleeping-draught, and it had never been known to fail.
Half a pipe of Irish twist and three pages of the sad imperial author
invariably plunged Chief Inspector Kerry into healthy slumber.
CHAPTER XXV
NIGHT-LIFE OF SOHO
It was close upon midnight when Detective-Sergeant Coombes appeared in
a certain narrow West End thoroughfare, which was lined with taxicabs
and private cars. He wore a dark overcoat and a tweed cap, and
although his chin was buried in the genial folds of a woollen
comforter, and his cap was pulled down over his eyes, his sly smile
could easily be detected even in the dim light afforded by the car
lamps. He seemed to have business of a mysterious nature among the
cabmen; for with each of them in turn he conducted a brief
conversation, passing unobtrusively from cab to cab, and making
certain entries in a notebook. Finally he disappeared. No one actually
saw him go, and no one had actually seen him arrive.
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