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to display his prejudice on the first day of his arrival with such force and determination that the sobriquet had been withdrawn by tacit consent of every member of the form who hitherto had favoured it.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 ............