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'Nd," to the policeman, "yeh stay here an' hold up anybody 't tries tuh leave th' buildin'. There ain't no other entrance, I s'pose, what?" "Basement door an' ash lift's round th' corner," responded the officer. "But that had ought tuh be locked, night." "Well, 'f anybody else comes along yeh put him there, anyway, for luck.... What 'n hell's th' matter with this elevator?"
The detective did look round, and pretty thoroughly. As soon as he was sure that there was no one concealed upon the premises, he drank his whisky and soda and went. "I'll look in again to see Cawdor," he remarked "to-morrow, perhaps, or the next day." "I'll let him know if I see him about," Peter Ruff declared. "Sorry the lift's stopped. Three steps to the left and straight on. Good-night!"
In a few minutes the room was as quiet as an empty church, save for a low voice that related an interminable story about "Cockie-Lockie and Henny-Penny going to tell the King the lift's fallen," till one, at all events, of the "blawlers" was sound asleep. The voice ceased and Tony's head appeared over the rail of his cot. "Hush!" Jan whispered. "Sister's asleep.
But unwatched men grow bold. This would be a night to bring temptation in the way of Perkins. Some villager workman, field-laborer, wood-cutter tramping the road would perhaps ask for a lift. "What cheer, mate! I'm for the night-mail. Give us a lift's far as junction, and I'll stan' the price of a pint to you." A glance up and down the empty road and then "Jump in.
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