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Updated: June 20, 2025
So Triffitt quickly pulled the flap of the Trilby hat about his nose, and sank his chin lower into the turned-up collar of his overcoat, and hurried past the tall figure. And Barthorpe on his part never looked at the reporter or if he did, took no more heed of him than of the balustrade at his side. "That's one thing established, anyway!" mused Triffitt as he went his way.
"Very kind of you," replied Davidge. "A slight amount of the liquid'll do us no harm, but no cigars, thank you, Mr. Triffitt. Cigars are apt to leave a scent, an odour, about one's clothes, however careful you may be, and we don't want to leave any traces of our presence where we're going, do we, Jim?" "Not much," assented Mr. Milsey, laconically. "Wouldn't do."
"You've given too much space to that Herapath funeral," he growled. "Take it away and cut it down to three-quarters." Triffitt made no verbal answer. He flung Markledew's half-sheet of notepaper before the news editor, and the news editor, seeing the great man's sprawling caligraphy, read, wonderingly: "Mr. Triffitt is released from ordinary duties to pursue others under my personal supervision.
The silence remained unbroken for some time after Triffitt had finished. And eventually Markledew got up from his elbow-chair and reached for his hat. "You can come with me," he said. "We'll just ride as far as New Scotland Yard." Triffitt felt himself turning pale. New Scotland Yard! Was he then to share his discoveries with officials?
Davidge showed no sign of interest; Triffitt began to wonder if anything could ever surprise him. He listened in dead silence to all that the reporter had to say; when Triffitt had finished he looked apathetically at his superior. "I think, sir, I will just step round to Mr. Halfpenny's office," he remarked. "Perhaps Mr. Triffitt will accompany me? then he and I can have a bit of a talk."
"It's information of what you might call partik'lar importance, is that." "I know you can tell the name of the man whom you drove that morning from the corner of Orchard Street to Kensington High Street," replied Triffitt. "It may be important it mayn't. You see, the police haven't been in any hurry to approach you, have they? Come now, give it a name?" The informant summoned up his resolution.
The first thing that had struck Triffitt in this respect was that there was no lift in this building. He had remarked on that to the clerk, and the clerk had answered with a shrug of the shoulders that it was a mistake and one for which the proprietor was already having to pay.
In my opinion," asserted Carver, "I believe that man's been found, too, and he's being kept back." "Good again!" said Triffitt. "It's likely. Well, I've a point. You heard the evidence about old Herapath's keys? Yes well, where's the key of that safe that he rented at the Safe Deposit place.
When he was eventually called in, he found not only the high official and Markledew, but another man whose name was presently given to him as Davidge. "Mr. Davidge," observed the high official, "is in charge of this case. Will you just tell him your story?" It appeared to Triffitt that Mr. Davidge was the least impressionable, most stolid man he had ever known.
But he was not looking at the shaded portion over which the clerk's pencil was straying; instead he was regarding the fact that across the corresponding portion of the plan was written in red ink the words, "Mr. Frank Burchill." The third portion was blank; it, apparently, was unlet. "That is really about the size of flat I want," said Triffitt, musingly. "What's the rent of that, now?"
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