It's being watched front and back. Twicewe've been in and hunted the place all over--we got leave to do this--but there was nothing, nor no one nowhere."
"Oh," I exclaimed incredulously, "that is a ridiculous thing to say. Ifa light really appears and disappears, there must be somebody in thehouse. Probably there's a secret entrance of which you know nothingabout."
"There are only three entrances," he answered quickly, "and one of 'emcan't rightly be called an entrance. There's the front door, and theback door for the tradesmen, and then there's a queer little way outinto Crane's alley--we can't think why that entrance was ever made."
The "queer little way out" I at once guessed to be the dark,underground, narrow little stone cellar-passage through which Vera hadled me when we had escaped together on the day I had discovered herhidden in the house.
"And are the entrances all locked?" I asked. "Oh, you may take thatfrom me," he replied. "They are locked right enough, and nobody don'tget the keys, neither."
At that moment, oddly enough, the thought of the curious-looking brownstain in the corner of the ceiling on the first floor, that I hadnoticed on the day I had explored the unoccupied house, came suddenlyback into my mind.
I must have talked to the policeman for fully fifteen minutes, and hadasked him many questions. Before the end of that time I had, however,discovered that he was of a superstitious nature, and that he did not atall like what was happening.
I pondered for a little while, then I said--
"Look here, officer"--if you want to please a policeman always call him"officer"--"I am going to peep into that room, and you must help me."
"Me, sir?"
"Yes, you. What are policemen for, except to help people? Now listen.I can't, of course, get into the house, but I am going to arrange for aladder to be brought here to-night that will reach to the first-floorwindows. This street is, I'm sure, quite deserted in the small hours ofthe morning. The ladder will be hoisted up by the men who bring it, youwill keep an eye up and down the street to see that nobody comes alongto interrupt us. Then I shall crawl up the ladder and peer in at thewindow. If there is space between the boards wide enough to admitlight, the space must be wide enough to enable me to peep into theroom."
"It's a bit risky, sir."
"Risky? Not the slightest. I'll make it worth your while to undertakewhat risk there is. So that is understood. You are on duty hereto-night at two o'clock?"
"Oh, yes, sir, but--"
"There is no `but.' I shall see you later, then."
I returned to King Street. My man John had a friend who worked for abuilder, he told me. This friend of his would, he said, arrangeeverything, and be delighted to. Oh, yes, he had a ladder. He hadseveral ladders. He could bring along single-handed, a ladder thelength I wanted, and set it in position.
This was satisfactory. I went to a theatre in order to kill time, for Ifelt excited and terribly impatient. I had not told Vera of my plan, orFaulkner, or indeed anybody but the policeman.
The builder's man was punctual to the minute. He had concealed theladder in Crane's Court before dark, thinking suspicion might be arousedwere he to be seen carrying a ladder through the streets of London inthe middle of the night. Two o'clock had just struck, when he creptstealthily into Belgrave Square with the ladder over his shoulder.Acting upon my instructions, he laid it flat upon the pavement.Impatiently I waited. A quarter-past two chimed on some far-distantclock. Still the windows remained in darkness.
Twenty minutes passed... Twenty-five... I began to feel anxious.Would this mysterious visitor not come to-night? That would indeed be abitter disappointment. Ah!
The light had appeared. It was on the first floor. Now it percolatedfeebly between the boards covering two windows.
At a signal from me the man picked up the ladder, raised it to avertical position, then let it rest, without a sound, against thewindow-sill.
"All right, sir," he whispered to me.
Restraining my excitement, I began slowly, cautiously, to creep up therungs.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.
CONTAINS A FURTHER SURPRISE.
The boards covering the windows were about an inch thick, but, with theslovenliness unfortunately too common among British workmen, they hadbeen nailed up "anyhow," and between the two boards immediately facingme was a space an inch or more. Through that, I saw the weak light, asof a candle.
Two rungs higher up I climbed, leant forward, and endeavoured to glue myeye to this crack, in order to peer into the room.
It was by no means easy to see more than a narrow strip of the room, andthat strip was empty. Guessing, however, that something I should beable to see must soon happen in the room, I decided to wait. I supposeI must have waited about five minutes--it seemed like a quarter of anhour--my eye was beginning to ache, and I had a crick in my neck, whenof a sudden a shadow fell across the bare boards--the strip of floorthat I could see--and then a second shadow. A moment later a man stoodin the room, his back to the window, a light in his hand. At once Irecognised the man by his colossal stature.
It was the dark giant I knew as Davies.
What was he doing? I could not see. Some one was beside him, also withhis back turned. I started. This second man was Sir Charles Thorold,undoubtedly. They were conversing, but I could not, of course, catchtheir words.
Sir Charles was bending down. He seemed to be on all fours. Now Davieswas on all fours too. They were both crawling on all fours about thefloor, as though searching for something.
With breathless interest I watched them. They had passed out of myrange of vision, though a pair of feet were still visible. The feetremained in sight for quite a long time, ten minutes or more. Then theytoo disappeared.
"What on earth are they about?" was my mental comment. "What can theybe seeking?"
It had seemed obvious that they had been trying to find something.
Still on the ladder I waited, hoping that something more might happen,but I saw nothing more, and presently the light was extinguished. Ijudged that some one had carried the candle into another room.Apparently there was no object in waiting longer on the ladder, so Icautiously descended to the ground again.
I felt satisfied, and yet dissatisfied, with the result of myobservation.
It was satisfactory to know who the people were who visited the house inthis mysterious way in the small hours. But it was unsatisfactory notto have found out why they went there at that time of night, and thussecretively--or why they went there at all.
Just as I reached the ground, thought of the advertisement I had noticedin the _Morning Post_ floated back into my mind--
"_Meet me_ 2."
Could there be any connexion between that advertisement and thesemysterious visits at two in the morning? It seemed unlikely, and yet itwas somewhat curious.
I did not tell the expectant constable more than I deemed it good thathe should know. I told him I thought I had discovered the presence oftwo men in the house, but I did not say they were men I knew and couldidentify.
He was pleased with the half-sovereign I gave him, and hinted clearlythat he would always be glad to render me any service in his power. Italways interests me to observe how readily the milk of human kindnesscomes oozing out where one least expects it, provided the "source"whence it springs is "handled" in the right way.
As he had said this, I determined to take him at his word. I had seenenough to excite my curiosity and to stimulate in me a keen desireactually to enter the house. But how could this be arranged?
Everything is possible of accomplishment, I find, if you set about it inthe right way. I had obtained from the policeman his private address inRodney Street, Walworth Road, and, on the following evening, when he wasoff duty, I looked in to see him.
Rarely have I been more welcomed by anybody than I was by that policemanand his wife, or more hospitably entertained. Plenty of men of about myown social standing would, I know, think me quite mad if I told
them Ihad hobnobbed with "a common policeman." The club would have beenshocked. "My dear fellah," I can hear them saying, "you really shoulddraw the line somewhere, don't you know. A gentleman is a gentleman,and a policeman is--well, is a policeman--eh, what? He may be anexceedingly good and honest fellah, and all that sort of thing, don'tyou know, but, after all, we must keep to people in our own station oflife, or we shall be dining with each other's valets next, and one'sfriend's butler will be asking one to lunch with him at his club. I'mcosmopolitan myself, up to a point, but really one must keep the classesdistinct, we must keep ourselves aloof from the common people, or wherewill it end, don't you know? As I say, a gentleman is a gentleman, anda man who isn't a gentleman, well, he isn't a gentleman--you can't getaway from
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