The blows of a pile-driver at work on the Surrey shore
suggested to Kerry's mind the phantom crew of Hendrick Hudson at their
game of ninepins in the Katskill Mountains. Suddenly:
"Is that you, Bryce?" he asked.
"I'm here, sir," replied the voice of the constable from beside him.
"H'm, then there's someone else about." He raised his voice. "Hi,
there! have you lost your way?"
Kerry stood still, listening. But no one answered to his call.
"I'll swear there was someone just behind us, Bryce!"
"There was, sir. I saw someone, too. A Chinese resident, probably.
Here we are!"
A sound of banging became audible, and on advancing another two paces,
Kerry found himself beside Bryce before a low closed door.
"Hello! hello!" croaked a dim voice. "Number one p'lice chop, lo! Sin
Sin Wa!"
The flat note of a police whistle followed.
"Sin Sin is at home," declared Bryce. "That's the raven."
"Does he take the thing about with him, then?"
"I don't think so. But he puts it in a cupboard when he goes out, and
it never talks unless it can see a light."
Bolts were unfastened and the door was opened. Out through the moving
curtain of fog shone the red glow from a stove. A grotesque silhouette
appeared outlined upon the dim redness.
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