"Ho, ho!" continued the Chief Inspector, showing his teeth savagely.
"So we let Scotland Yard make the pie, and then we steal all the
plums, do we?"
He shook the frightened man until Brisley's broad-brimmed bowler was
shaken off, revealing the receding brow and scanty neutral-colored
hair.
"We let Scotland Yard work night and day, and then we present our rat-
faced selves to Mr. Monte Irvin and say we have 'found the lady' do
we?" Another vigorous shake followed. "We track Chief Inspectors of
the Criminal Investigation Department, do we? We do, eh? We are dirty,
skulking mongrels, aren't we? We require to be kicked from Limehouse
to Paradise, don't we?" He suddenly released Brisley. "So we shall
be!" he shouted furiously.
Hot upon the promise came the deed.
Brisley sent up a howl of pain as Kerry's right brogue came into
violent contact with his person. The assault almost lifted him off his
feet, and hatless as he was he set off, running as a man runs whose
life depends upon his speed. The sound of his pattering footsteps was
echoed from wall to wall of the cul-de-sac until finally it was
swallowed up in the fog.
Kerry stood listening for some moments, then, directing a furious kick
upon the bowler which lay at his feet, he snapped off the light of the
torch and pursued his way.
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