"You're not going yet, Dickey?" said Mollie, throwing her arm around
the other's waist.
"Ssh!" whispered "Dickey." "Inspector Kerry is here! You don't want to
be called as a witness at nasty inquests and things, do you?"
"Good heavens, my dear, no! But why should I be?"
"Why should any of us? But don't you see they are looking for the
people who used to go to Kazmah's? It's in the paper tonight. We shall
all be served with subpoenas. I'm off!"
Escaping from Mollie's embrace, the tall girl ran up the stairs,
kissing her hand to Bill as she passed. Mollie hesitated, looking all
about the crowded room for Chief Inspector Kerry. Presently she saw
him, standing nearly opposite the stairway, his intolerant blue eyes
turning right and left, so that the fierce glance seemed to miss
nothing and no one in the room. Hands thrust in his overcoat pockets
and his cane held under his arm, he inspected the place and its
occupants as a very aggressive country cousin might inspect the
monkey-house at the Zoo. To Mollie's intense disappointment he
persistently avoided looking in her direction.
Although a popular dance was on the point of commencing, several
visitors had suddenly determined to leave. Kerry pretended to be
ignorant of the sensation which his appearance had created, passing
slowly along the room and submitting group after group to deliberate
scrutiny; but as news flies through an Eastern bazaar the name of the
celebrated detective, whose association with London's latest crime was
mentioned by every evening paper in the kingdom, sped now on magic
wings, so that there was a muted charivari out of which, in every key
from bass to soprano, arose ever and anon the words "Chief Inspector
Kerry.
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