Dan Kerry, junior, was humorously like his father, except that he was
larger-boned and promised to grow into a much bigger man. His hair was
uncompromisingly red, and grew in such irregular fashion that the comb
was not made which could subdue it. He had the wide-open, fighting blue
eyes of the Chief Inspector, and when he smiled the presence of two
broken teeth lent him a very pugilistic appearance.
On his advent at the school of which he was now one of the most popular
members, he had promptly been christened “Carrots.” To this nickname
young Kerry had always taken exception, and he proceeded to display
his prejudice on the first day of his arrival with such force and
determination that the sobriquet had been withdrawn by tacit consent of
every member of the form who hitherto had favoured it.
“I'll take you all on,” the new arrival had declared amidst a silence of
stupefaction, “starting with you”--pointing to the biggest boy. “If we
don't finish to-day, I'll begin again to-morrow.”
The sheer impudence of the thing had astounded everybody. Young Kerry's
treatment of his leading persecutor had produced a salutary change of
opinion. Of such kidney was Daniel Kerry, junior; and when, some hours
after his father's departure on the night of the murder in the fog, the
'phone bell rang, it was Dan junior, and not his mother, who answered
the call.
“Hallo!” said a voice. “Is that Chief Inspector Kerry's house?”
“Yes,” replied Dan.
“It has begun to rain in town,” the voice continued, “Is that the Chief
Inspector's son speaking?”
“Yes, I'm Daniel Kerry.”
“Well, my boy, you know the way to New Scotland Yard?”
“Rather.”
“He says will you bring his overall? Do you know where to find it?”
“Yes, yes!” cried Dan excitedly, delighted to be thus made a party to
his father's activities.
“Well, get it. Jump on a tram at the Town Hall and bring the overall
along here. Your mother will not object, will she?”
“Of course not,” cried Dan. “I'll tell her. Am I to start now?”
“Yes, right away.”
Mrs. Kerry was sewing by the fire in the dining room when her son came
in with the news, his blue eyes sparkling excitedly. She nodded her head
slowly.
“Ye'll want ye'r Burberry and ye'r thick boots,” she declared, “a
muffler, too, and ye'r oldest cap. I think it's madness for ye to go out
on such a night, but----”
“Father said I could,” protested the boy.
“He says so, and ye shall go, but I think it madness a' the same.”
However, some ten minutes later young Kerry set out, keenly resenting
the woollen muffler which he had been compelled to wear, and secretly
determined to remove it before mounting the tram. Across one arm he
carried the glistening overall which was the Chief Inspector's constant
companion on wet nights abroad. The fog had turned denser, and ten paces
from the door of the house took him out of sight of the light streaming
from the hallway.
Mary Kerry well knew her husband's theories about coddling boys, but
even so could not entirely reconcile herself to the present expedition.
However, closing the door, she returned philosophically to her sewing,
reflecting that little harm could come to Dan after all, for he was
strong, healthy, and intelligent.
On went the boy through the mist, whistling merrily. Not twenty yards
from the house a coupe was drawn up, and by the light of one of its
lamps a man was consulting a piece of paper on which, presumably, an
address was written; for, as the boy approached, the man turned, his
collar pulled up about his face, his hat pulled down.
“Hallo!” he called. “Can you please tell me something?”
He spoke with a curious accent, unfamiliar to the boy. “A foreigner of
some kind,” young Kerry determined.
“What is it?” he asked, pausing.
“Will you please read and tell me if I am near this place?” the man
continued, holding up the paper which he had been scrutinizing.
Dan stepped forward and bent over it. He could not make out the writing,
and bent yet more, holding it nearer to the lamp. At which moment some
second person neatly pinioned him from behind, a scarf was whipped about
his head, and, kicking furiously but otherwise helpless, he felt himself
lifted and placed inside the car.
The muffler had been thrown in such fashion about his face as to leave
one eye partly free, and as he was lifted he had a momentary glimpse of
his captors. With a thrill of real, sickly terror he realized that he
was in the hands of Chinamen!
Perhaps telepathically this spasm of fear was conveyed to his father,
for it was at about this time that the latter was interviewing Zani
Chada, and at about this time that Kerry recognized, underlying the
other's words, at once an ill-concealed suspense and a threat. Then,
a few minutes later, had come the three strokes of the gong; and again
that unreasonable dread had assailed him, perhaps because it signalized
the capture of his son, news of which had been immediately telephoned to
Limehouse by Zani Chada's orders.
Certain it is that Kerry left the Eurasian's house in a frame of mind
which was not familiar to him. He was undecided respecting his next
move. A deadly menace underlay Chada's words.
“Consult your wife,” he kept muttering to himself. When the door was
opened for him by the Chinese servant, he paused a moment before going
out into the fog. There were men on duty at the back and at the front of
the house. Should he risk all and raid the place? That Lady Rourke was
captive here he no longer doubted. But it was equally certain that no
further harm would come to her at the hands of her captors, since she
had been traced there and since Zani Chada was well aware of the fact.
Of the whereabouts of Lou Chada he could not be certain. If he was in
the house, they had him.
The door was closed by the Chinaman, and Kerry stood out in the darkness
of the dismal, brick-walled street, feeling something as nearly akin
to dejection as was possible in one of his mercurial spirit. Something
trickled upon the brim of his hat, and, raising his head, Kerry detected
rain upon his upturned face. He breathed a prayer of thankfulness. This
would put an end to the fog.
He began to walk along by the high brick wall, but had not proceeded far
before a muffled figure arose before him and the light of an electric
torch was shone into his face.
“Oh, it's you, Chief Inspector!” came the voice of the watcher.
“It is,” rapped Kerry. “Unless there are tunnels under this old
rat-hole, I take it the men on duty can cover all the exits?”
“All the main exits,” was the reply. “But, as you say, it's a strange
house, and Zani Chada has a stranger reputation.”
“Do nothing until you hear from me.”
“Very good, Chief Inspector.”
The rain now was definitely conquering the fog, and in half the time
which had been occupied by the outward journey Kerry was back again in
Limehouse police station. Unconsciously he had been hastening his pace
with every stride, urged onward by an unaccountable anxiety, so that
finally he almost ran into the office and up to the desk where the
telephone stood.
Lifting it, he called his own number and stood tapping his foot,
impatiently awaiting the reply. Presently came the voice of the
operator: “Have they answered yet?”
“No.”
“I will ring them again.”
Kerry's anxiety became acute, almost unendurable; and when at last,
after repeated attempts, no reply could be obtained from his home, he
replaced the receiver and leaned for a moment on the desk, shaken with
such a storm of apprehension as he had rarely known. He turned to the
inspector in charge, and:
“Let me have that envelope I left with you,” he directed. “And have
someone 'phone for a taxi; they are to keep on till they get one. Where
is Sergeant Durham?”
“At the mortuary.”
“Ah!”
“Any developments, Chief Inspector?”
“Yes. But apart from keeping a close watch upon the house of Zani Chada
you are to do nothing until you hear from me again.”
“Very good,” said the inspector. “Are you going to wait for Durham's
report?”
“No. Directly the cab arrives I am going to wait for nothing.”
Indeed, he paced up and down the room like a wild beast caged, while
call after call was sent to neighbouring cab ranks, for a long time
without result. What did it mean, his wife's failure to answer the
telephone? It might mean that neither she nor their one servant nor Dan
was in the house. And if they were not in the house at this hour of the
night, where could they possibly be? This it might mean, or--something
worse.
A thousand and one possibilities, hideous, fantastic, appalling, flashed
through his mind. He was beginning to learn what Zani Chada had meant
when he had said: “I have followed your career with interest.”
At last a taxi was found, and the man instructed over the 'phone to
proceed immediately to Limehouse station. He seemed so long in coming
that when at last the cab was heard to pause outside, Kerry could not
trust himself to speak to the driver, but directed a sergeant to give
him the address. He entered silently and closed the door.
A steady drizzle of rain was falling. It had already dispersed the fog,
so that he might hope with luck to be home within the hour. As a matter
of fact, the man performed the journey in excellent time, but it seemed
to his passenger that he could have walked quicker, such was the gnawing
anxiety within him and the fear which prompted him to long for wings.
Instructing the cabman to wait, Kerry unlocked the front door and
entered. He had noted a light in the dining room window, and entering,
he found his wife awaiting him there. She rose as he entered, with
horror in her comely face.
“Dan!” she whispered. “Dan! where is ye'r mackintosh?”
“I didn't take it,” he replied, endeavouring to tell himself that his
apprehensions had been groundless. “But how was it that you did not
answer the telephone?”
“What do ye mean, Dan?” Mary Kerry stared, her eyes growing wider and
wider. “The boy answered, Dan. He set out wi' ye'r mackintosh full an
hour and a half since.”
“What!”
The truth leaped out at Kerry like an enemy out of ambush.
“Who sent that message?”
“Someone frae the Yard, to tell the boy to bring ye'r mackintosh alone
at once. Dan! Dan------”
She advanced, hands outstretched, quivering, but Kerry had leaped out
into the narrow hallway. He raised the telephone receiver, listened for
a moment, and then jerked it back upon the hook.
“Dead line!” he muttered. “Someone has been at work with a wire-cutter
outside the house!”
His wife came out to where he stood, and, clenching his teeth very
grimly, he took her in his arms. She was shaking as if palsied.
“Mary dear,” he said, “pray with all your might that I am given strength
to do my duty.”
She looked at him with haggard, tearless eyes.
“Tell me the truth: ha' they got my boy?”
His fingers tightened on her shoulders.
“Don't worry,” he said, “and don't ask me to stay to explain. When I
come back I'll have Dan with me!”
He trusted himself no further, but, clapping his hat on his head, walked
out to the waiting cab.
“Back to Limehouse police station,” he directed rapidly.
“Lor lumme!” muttered the taximan. “Where are you goin' to after that,
guv'nor? It's a bit off the map.”
“I'm going to hell!” rapped Kerry, suddenly thrusting his red face very
near to that of the speaker. “And you're going to drive me!”