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Beale, stepping back, shocked and hurt, "I call you to witnesh, Detective-Sergeant Peterson and amiable Constable Fairbank and learned Dr. van Heerden, that he has denied me. And it has come to this," he said bitterly, and leaning his head against the door-post he howled like a dog.
"Miss Fosdyke's just as concerned about her uncle as you are about your brother. She declares she'll spend a fortune on finding him or finding out what's happened to him. It was Miss Fosdyke insisted on having Detective-Sergeant Starmidge down at once." Hollis quietly scrutinized the detective. "Well?" he asked. "And what do you make of it?"
Half a pipe of Irish twist and three pages of the sad imperial author invariably plunged Chief Inspector Kerry into healthy slumber. It was close upon midnight when Detective-Sergeant Coombes appeared in a certain narrow West End thoroughfare, which was lined with taxicabs and private cars.
"If he will take the car to Denmark Hill Station and be there by a quarter past eight," continued the voice, "Detective-Sergeant Blythe will meet him. There is a large box," he added, "which Inspector Gatton wishes to have taken to your house." "Very well," I said. "Coates will start in ten minutes' time, and I will come along immediately to meet Inspector Gatton."
Twenty minutes later, there was a ring at the bell, and Parks opened the door and admitted four men. "Why, hello, Simmonds," I said, recognising in the first one the detective-sergeant who had assisted in clearing up the Marathon mystery.
Despite the bewildered air and wandering manner, he knew this big, tired-looking soldier for an administrator of infinite capacity and inexhaustive energy. Proceeding to a room further along the corridor, Chief Inspector Kerry opened the door and looked in. "Detective-Sergeant Coombes." he snapped, and rolled chewing-gum from side to side of his mouth.
That a perfect stranger, and a perfectly drunken stranger at that, should employ a nickname which was for the use of a privileged few, distressed him. "And," said the swaying man by the door, peering through the half-darkness: "Is it not Detective-Sergeant Peterson and Constable Fairbank? Welcome to this home of virtue." The detective-sergeant smiled but said nothing.
He knocked, but there was no reply. He knocked again and on this failing to evoke any response kicked heavily at the door. "Have you a telephone downstairs!" he asked. "Yes, sir," replied Fisher. T. X. turned to the detective-sergeant. "'Phone to the Yard," he said, "and get a man up with a bag of tools. We shall have to pick this lock and I haven't got my case with me."
He started forward, with gritting teeth, and simultaneously Chief Arkwright, Detective-Sergeant Connelly and Mr. Czenki laid restraining hands upon him. Something in the expert's grip on his wrist caused him to stop and cease a futile struggle; then came a singular expression of resignation about the mouth and he sat down again. "Hello! This Mr.
The detective-sergeant had found it unbolted and unlocked, but the cook most positively asserted that she had both locked and bolted it at half-past ten, when the under housemaid had come in from her "evening out." None of the servants, however, recollected having undone the door either before the alarm or after. Perhaps Short had done so, but he was absent, in search of the dead man's widow.
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