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"Good evening, sir," said the Chief Inspector, stepping forward. "Do I address Lord Marcus Amberdale?"

"You do. I am at your service."

Firth turned and spoke to the driver. "Pull around the corner of South Street. Keep a sharp lookout."

And as he spoke, from the dim lobby where Lord Marcus stood, out into that silent street crept a heavy perfume, a perfume so unmistakable that the doctor sniffed audibly, and Sergeant Bluett again exchanged glances with Chief Inspector Firth. It was burning incense. The car moved off.

"You sent a message to Scotland Yard about ten minutes ago, sir. I am here to investigate."

"You are welcome." The refined, musical, rather troubled voice expressed little beyond bewilderment.

"I am Chief Inspector Firth."

"Please come in, Chief Inspector. I was fortunate enough to find Colonel O'Halloran in his office when I 'phoned. He and I were formerly brother officers, you know. Who are these other gentlemen?"

"Detective-sergeant Bluett, my assistant, and Dr. Fawcett, Divisional surgeon."