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Theydon took the stairs two at a stride, opened the door of No. 18, which, with No. 17, occupied the top landing. He was valeted and cooked for by an ex-sergeant of the Army Service Corps and his wife, an admirable couple named Bates, and the male of the species appeared before Theydon had removed coat and opera hat in the tiny hall.
Lester was being killed, the key of her flat was actually in your possession?" "I suppose it might be put that way, sir." By this time Theydon was becoming exasperated at the veritable conspiracy which fate had engineered for the express purpose, apparently, of entangling him in an abominable crime.
Theydon had forgotten to ask Handyside for his ticket. The girl, of course, had her own ticket, but her companion was not allowed to pass the barrier. He began an explanation to which a busy official paid no heed. In desperation, he produced a sovereign, and his card. "Here," be said, "you can hold this as a guarantee that my ticket will be given up.
Evidently Miss Evelyn Forbes would not be allowed to mope during the run to Eastbourne. As between Theydon and herself, the situation was curiously mixed.
"It may surprise you to hear," piped the shrill, cracked voice, "that there are dozens of policemen walking about London who would arrest you on suspicion had you treated them as you have treated us." "Then I can only say that I am fortunate in my inquisitors," smiled Theydon. Winter held up a massive fist in deprecation of these acerbities. "You have nothing more to tell us?" he queried.
Still, Theydon received an impression of a curiously wooden physiognomy. The man might have been an automaton for all the heed he gave to the taxi or its inquisitive occupant. But his aspect was almost forgotten in the far stranger discovery that the car was empty. Both windows were open, and the bright lights of a corner shop flashed into the interior, yet not a soul was visible.
"O, I fancy I was detained by some zealous assistant of yours," said Theydon, determined to carry the war into the enemy's territory. At that Furneaux looked up quickly. "Will you kindly tell me just what you mean, Mr. Theydon?" said Winter. "Why?
He uttered no word until the three were seated in Theydon's room, and his expression was so woebegone that it stirred even the mercurial Jerseyite to pity. "I imagine that a cup of coffee will do you also a world of good," he said. Then, whirling round on Theydon, he stuck a question into him as if each word was a stiletto. "Where do you get your coffee?"
"It seemed all right." "Seemed?" "Well, it was too straightforward. Theydon puzzles me. I admit it frankly. He also worries me. But let me handle him in my own way. Have no fear that he will use our material for newspaper purposes. With regard to the Innesmore Mansions affair, Theydon will lie close as a fish. Why? No use asking you, of course. You despise intuition.
The taxi driver was already gazing curiously in at his fares, wondering why one or both did not alight. "Be ready to start the instant I want you," said Theydon to the man, and he strolled past the gray car, with every sense alert, every muscle braced.
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