THE WHODUNIT COLLECTION: British Murder Mysteries (15 Novels in One Volume). Charles Norris Williamson

across the nape of his neck.

      It had taken little enough time to change the man's outer garments the brass helmet, the heavy jacket, the trousers and big sea-boots but even so, he had to fight his way, choking and gasping, through the smothering mixture of flame and smoke to the open air.

      The uniformed police at the lower end of the street remembered a fireman with grimed face and bloodshot eyes one keen-eyed officer had even noticed what he took to be a bandage under the helmet come towards them at a lumbering trot. As Ling had calculated, there had not been the shadow of suspicion in their minds as breathlessly he had ordered them to make way, muttering "We want to see if we can get at it from the back." And so he had vanished, leaving one more victim to be buried in the ruins of the burning house.

      Mortifying as it was, no one could justly be blamed. The uniformed police had acted hastily in cutting off access to and from Levoine Street, though one end of the street which backed on to it Paradise Street had been included in the cordon, the other had been left open.

      The mistake had been an easy one to make. Levoine Street itself ran straight as a pencil its entire length; Paradise Street, on the other hand, ran parallel back to back with Levoine Street for perhaps a quarter of its length and then swerved widely away at an obtuse angle which brought its bottom end out something more than half a mile from Levoine Street. If Gwennie Lyne had scaled the back walls safely she could have reached the house in Paradise Street from the back and escaped through the front without anyone being a whit the wiser. Ling, too, would have made for Paradise Street if only to effect a change back into normal clothing.

      All this had now become apparent to Weir Menzies and blackened his brow and soured his temper as he reflected how easily it might have been avoided. His cordon of detectives had been wider and had included Paradise Street until he had weakened it by calling in some of the men. However, there was little to be gained by repining. The back yards of the houses in Levoine Street had already been scoured and now a second party of searchers was at work among them, though hope of picking up any trace of Gwennie was feeble. The only chance was that if she tried to get away from Paradise Street she might be brought up by one of the outlying detective patrols.

      Although the search of the cut off area seemed now a waste of time, Menzies gave no instructions for it to cease. There was alwaj's a possibility, however faint it might be. His main hopes were centred on Big Rufe.

      "What's the number of that shanty in Paradise Street where you and Ling were hanging out?" he asked.

      Rufe gave it readily enough. "You don't reckon they'll be waiting there for you, do you?" he asked. "I guess you'll find the curb scorched, they got away so fast."

      The same idea was in Menzies' mind. He would cheerfully have given odds of a million to one on it, but nevertheless the place had to be gone through. He drew his chair a little closer to the prisoner.

      "What did you mean just now by ' en she quay '?" he asked.

      Rufe shook his head doggedly. "No guy ain't goin' to say I gave Ling away," he persisted. He was apparently obsessed with something of that curious trick of mind which will induce a dishonest witness with some shreds of conscience to kiss a thumb instead of the testament in court under the impression that perjury is thereby avoided.

      Menzies recognised the attitude. Rufe had had no objections to betraying Ling, but he would not definitely give away his fresh hiding place. He wanted to feel that he could deny having done so if occasion warranted and he was giving a hint capable of only one construction. A less self-controlled, less experienced man than Menzies might have been exasperated. The crook had been plain enough except on this one point. To argument and expostulation alike he blandly shook his head.

      There was, it seemed to Menzies, a chance of it being a piece of recondite American slang. If that was so it was new to him.

      He sent Rufe away to the police-station under escort and strolled out himself to see how things were progressing. It was getting on to one o'clock and the house-tohouse search was on the point of finishing. Congreve loomed up through the drizzle.

      "No go, sir," he reported. "House as bare as

      Mother Hubbard's cupboard except for some tinned stuff, some stale bread and half-a-dozen travelling rugs. Front door and the yard door were both open."

      "I was afraid so," said Menzies. "We don't seem to have any luck, do we?"

      "I don't know." Congreve smiled behind his hand at his chief's impatience. "If you don't mind my saying so, sir, it seems to me we haven't much to grumble about. A week ago we were right in the cart. Now we do know the story and we know the murderer."

      "Yep. And you've been long enough in the service, Congreve, to know that troubles only begin when a man is spotted. Tell me what ' en she quay ' means and you'll be talking sense."

      "Give it up," said Congreve decisively.

      "Well, I'm going to knock off now and go up and see Mr. Foyle. We've about cleared up here. You might ask some of the boys about that. Perhaps some of 'em may know. Where's Royal?"

      "Dry nursing Hallett in the ' Three Kings '."

      "On my soul I nearly forgot about him," declared Menzies and hurried away.

      He found Hallett and Royal, who appeared to have become fairly intimate, swopping tall stories in the public-house with Cincinnati Red as an interested onlooker. Peggy Greye-Stratton had long ago been sent away to Menzies' house. Royal stopped in the middle of a creditable imitation of the peculiarities of a certain famous judge. The chief inspector stood regarding them for a minute. "Well, boys," he said cheerfully, "I suppose you know the show is over for to-night, We've been diddled again."

      "Some gink," murmured Hallett softly.

      "You don't get my goat, my lad," smiled Menzies.

      "Ling seemed to manage fairly well," smiled Jimmie. "You're finding out you've got a man's size job, aren't you? All right "as Menzies moved threateningly towards him "I take it all back. You're it. The real Sherlock. You could eat a dozen Lings before breakfast, just to get an appetite. Keep off. I apologise. I beg pardon. I eat dirt. I "he gurgled.

      "Seriously, though," said Menzies, "I'm shutting up shop for to-night. It's after closing hours, but we'll see if we can get one drink if we talk kindly to the landlord all except Hallett."

      "Me?" said Jimmie. "You think I'm drunk?"

      "Well," Menzies drawled, "I've known men go up in the air with less reason. Say, I'll let you have that drink and own up you're sober if you'll answer one question."

      "Shoot," said Hallett.

      "What does ' en she quay ' mean?"

      Jimmie bent his brows in painful thought. At last he shook his head. "That's one on me. I'll bite." He waited expectant.

      "It isn't a catch," explained Menzies. "I want to know."

      Cincinnati Red looked up. "I've got an idea what you're driving at," he said. "I ought to have caught on before, only I didn't think of it. I've heard that Ling hits the pipe. I don't know for sure. He's never let on."

      "An opium smoker?"

      "Sure. That's what ' en she quay ' means. They say that he's been a dope fiend for years. That explains why he goes all to pieces sometimes. He can't keep away from it for long."

      There was dead silence for a moment. Both Menzies and Hallett had forgotten their duel of badinage. The chief inspector's face was very thoughtful. There could be no over-estimating the value of the knowledge-- knowledge which was likely to shorten the pursuit by no one knew how long. Like many important clues it had come out, as it were, by accident an accident nevertheless that would not have happened but for the search of Levoine Street.

      Instead of having to begin again the hunt for Ling anywhere, everywhere there was a fixed point on which to focus. Menzies knew something of the craving which men will take terrible risks to satisfy. Even in flight no man ridden by the habit would put himself out of reach of the drug. Reasoning