SETON PASHA REPORTS
At about the time that the fearless Chief Inspector was entering the
establishment of Sam Tûk Seton Pasha was reporting to Lord Wrexborough
in Whitehall. His nautical disguise had served its purpose, and he had
now finally abandoned it, recognizing that he had to deal with a
criminal of genius to whom disguise merely afforded matter for
amusement.
In his proper person, as Greville Seton, he afforded a marked contrast
to that John Smiles, seaman, who had sat in a top room in Limehouse
with Chief Inspector Kerry. And although he had to report failure, the
grim, bronzed face and bright grey eyes must have inspired in the heart
of any thoughtful observer confidence in ultimate success. Lord
Wrexborough, silver-haired, florid and dignified, sat before a vast
table laden with neatly arranged dispatch-boxes, books, documents tied
with red tape, and the other impressive impedimenta which characterize
the table of a Secretary of State. Quentin Gray, unable to conceal his
condition of nervous excitement, stared from a window down into
Whitehall.
“I take it, then, Seton,” Lord Wrexborough was saying, “that in your
opinion—although perhaps it is somewhat hastily formed—there is and has
been no connivance between officials and receivers of drugs?”
“That is my opinion, sir. The traffic has gradually and ingeniously
been ‘ringed’ by a wealthy group. Smaller dealers have been bought out
or driven out, and today I believe it would be difficult, if not
impossible, to obtain opium, cocaine, or veronal illicitly anywhere in
London. Kazmah and Company had the available stock cornered. Of course,
now that they are out of business, no doubt others will step in. It is
a trade that can never be suppressed under existing laws.”
“I see, I see,” muttered Lord Wrexborough, adjusting his pince-nez.
“You also believe that Kazmah and Company are in hiding within what you
term”—he consulted a written page—“the ‘Causeway area’? And you believe
that the man called Sin Sin Wa is the head of the organization?”
“I believe the late Sir Lucien Pyne was the actual head of the group,”
said Seton bluntly. “But Sin Sin Wa is the acting head. In view of his
physical peculiarities, I don’t quite see how he’s going to escape us,
either, sir. His wife has a fighting chance, and as for Mohammed
el-Kazmah, he might sail for anywhere tomorrow, and we should never
know. You see, we have no description of the man.”
“His passports?” murmured Lord Wrexborough.
Seton Pasha smiled grimly.
“Not an insurmountable difficulty, sir,” he replied, “but Sin Sin Wa is
a marked man. He has the longest and thickest pigtail which I ever saw
on a human scalp. I take it he is a Southerner of the old school;
therefore, he won’t cut it off. He has also only one eye, and while
there are many one-eyed Chinamen, there are few one-eyed Chinamen who
possess pigtails like a battleship’s hawser. Furthermore, he travels
with a talking raven, and I’ll swear he won’t leave it behind. On the
other hand, he is endowed with an amount of craft which comes very near
to genius.”
“And—Mrs. Monte Irvin?”
Quentin Gray turned suddenly, and his boyish face was very pale.
“Seton, Seton!” he said. “For God’s sake tell me the truth! Do you
think—”
He stopped, choking emotionally. Seton Pasha watched him with that
cool, confident stare which could either soothe or irritate; and:
“She was alive this morning, Gray,” he replied quietly, “we heard her.
You may take it from me that they will offer her no violence. I shall
say no more.”
Lord Wrexborough cleared his throat and took up a document from the
table.
“Your remark raises another point, Quentin,” he said sternly, “which
has to be settled today. Your appointment to Cairo was confirmed this
morning. You sail on Tuesday.”
Quentin Gray turned again abruptly and stared out of the window.
“You’re practically kicking me out, sir,” he said. “I don’t know what
I’ve done.”
“You have done nothing,” replied Lord Wrexborough “which an honorable
man may not do. But in common with many others similarly circumstanced,
you seem inclined, now that your military duties are at an end, to
regard life as a sort of perpetual ‘leave.’ I speak frankly before
Seton because I know that he agrees with me. My friend the Foreign
Secretary has generously offered you an appointment which opens up a
career that should not—I repeat, that should not prove less successful
than his own.”
Gray turned, and his face had flushed deeply.
“I know that Margaret has been scaring you about Rita Irvin,” he said,
“but on my word, sir, there was no need to do it.”
He met Seton Pasha’s cool regard, and:
“Margaret’s one of the best,” he added. “I know you agree with me?”
A faint suggestion of added color came into Seton’s tanned cheeks.
“I do, Gray,” he answered quietly. “I believe you are good enough to
look upon me as a real friend; therefore allow me to add my advice, for
what it is worth, to that of Lord Wrexborough and your cousin: take the
Egyptian appointment. I know where it will lead. You can do no good by
remaining in London; and when we find Mrs. Irvin your presence would be
an embarrassment to the unhappy man who waits for news at Prince’s
Gate. I am frank, but it’s my way.”
He held out his hand, smiling. Quentin Gray’s mercurial complexion was
changing again, but:
“Good old Seton!” he said, rather huskily, and gripped the outstretched
hand. “For Irvin’s sake, save her!”
He turned to his father.
“Thank you, sir,” he added, “you are always right. I shall be ready on
Tuesday. I suppose you are off again, Seton?”
“I am,” was the reply. “Chief Inspector Kerry is moving heaven and
earth to find the Kazmah establishment, and I don’t want to come in a
poor second.”
Lord Wrexborough cleared his throat and turned in the padded revolving
chair.
“Honestly, Seton,” he said, “what do you think of your chance of
success?”
Seton Pasha smiled grimly.
“Many ascribe success to wit,” he replied, “and failure to bad luck;
but the Arab says ‘Kismet.’”