THE following day was a Saturday, and no member of the firm of the Malaga Wine & Spirit Company went up to the City. Instead, until late afternoon, they were busy trying to find out what was wrong with the engine of their motor launch.
There did not seem very much amiss, but still it was undoubtedly making unusual noises, which they feared might portend some major trouble later, perhaps when they were far out to sea. And trouble then they certainly did not want, for among their activities in anything that would earn easy money they smuggled in forbidden drugs.
A London-bound tramp steamer was due shortly and would drop a buoyed parcel of cocaine for them, well off the North Foreland, and they would have to be in the vicinity to pick it up with as little delay as possible.
As the day wore on, towards five o’clock, a fog began to creep from over seawards and accordingly they made all haste to return home. Fogs on the Denbigh marshes were never to be held lightly, as in many places, except in an exceedingly dry summer, the track to Marle House was always one to be negotiated with the greatest of care.
Their evening meal over, they were discussing once again the proposition put to Pellew by his visitor of the previous day, when they were all brought quickly to their feet by the sound of a loud explosion somewhere out to sea.
They ran outside on to the seawall and peered into the darkness; but the fog was now heavy and they could see nothing beyond twenty to thirty yards.
“That’s funny!” exclaimed Royne, the expaymaster. “It was quite different from a signal of distress and nothing like, either, the boom of a gun.”
They remained on the seawall for a few minutes and then, nothing more happening, returned into the house and resumed their interrupted conversation.
An hour and longer went by and then, a faint breeze stirring, the fog began to lift and stars to show through the haze. It was then approaching high water and the small waves were beginning to lap not far from the seawall.
Presently a black object could have been seen about a couple of hundred yards or so out to sea, gradually, however, drawing nearer and nearer to the shore. Then, anyone watching there, would have perceived the object to be a man. He was swimming on his back, very slowly and as if he were very tired.
Presently he turned over, and apparently finding he was no longer out of his depth, sank on to his feet and began to wade laboriously towards the shore.
He was quite a long time covering the last fifty yards; but, at length gaining the dry sand, he threw himself down as if in the extreme stages of exhaustion.
For some minutes he lay where he was, but then the waves now beginning to lap round him, he struggled to his feet again and with unsteady steps mounted upon the seawall. Marle House was then not 20 yards from him and, against the faint starlight, its walls stood out as a deeper shadow of the night. He gasped in amazement; and a great thankfulness surged through him as he perceived there were lights streaming from two windows.
Stumbling down the land side of the seawall, he made for the lighted window nearer to him, but his strength was not quite equal to the journey, and he sank down on to the ground when only a few yards away. He saw the window was open at the top and was about to call out for help, when what he heard made him stifle his cry.
A man was speaking inside the room and his words came clearly and distinctly. “But after we’ve spied out the place where we are to go, and it comes to the actual shooting, then we’ll all use our guns together, so that it can’t be proved which of us killed them. With six shots between us, we ought to be quite certain of getting them both.”
Almost fainting with exhaustion as he was, the half-drowned man had yet strength enough to express his amazement. “Great Scot!” he murmured. “But who are these people here? Shooting and killing — what the devil does it mean?”
Then suddenly, as if nerved to greater strength, he rose to his feet and, passing beyond the window, proceeded to walk slowly along the side of the house. He turned a corner and came upon a door.
But a great weakness again seized him and he had just strength enough to kick twice upon the door before he collapsed in a dead faint on to the ground.
The next thing he remembered was finding himself lying upon a bed, in a dimly lighted and almost bare room. He was wrapped in a blanket and could feel there was a hot-water bag at his feet and another against his heart. An elderly woman with a kind face was giving him something hot and fiery to drink out of a cup. Three men were standing behind her and, subconsciously, he noticed they did not look so friendly as the woman, and that their expressions, indeed, were frowning ones.
“There, you’ll be all right now,” said the woman smilingly. “Do you feel quite warm?” and, too weak to speak, he nodded his thanks.
Then one of the men came nearer and bent over him. “Who are you?” asked the man, “and how did you come to get there?” but he made no answer and just stared at his interrogator as if he did not understand.
A second man moved up and laid his fingers upon his pulse. “He’s not strong enough yet to talk,” he said. “His pulse is still very thready and poor. We shan’t get anything out of him to-night. He’ll have to have some sleep first,” and after a few moments the three men left the room.
“Now, you’re quite comfortable,” said the woman, “and can go off to sleep. I’ll leave the light burning and will come in every now and then to see if you are all right. So don’t you be worrying about anything.”
The man upon the bed had been quite correct in his subconscious idea that the three men had not been too pleased to see him lying there, and he would have realised it most fully could he but have overheard what they were now saying among themselves.
“A confounded nuisance,” scowled Pellew. “We ought to have let him croak.”
“And he’d have croaked easily enough,” nodded Rising, the one-time medical practitioner, “if we had only left him for half an hour where we found him. He had no pulse at all.” He shook his head. “Still, with this damned woman about, we couldn’t have let him die. Curse her and her first aid.”
Royne shook his head. “But it wouldn’t have done to have had the body of a dead man found anywhere near here. It would have meant an inquest and all that. Then if any of us had had to give evidence about finding the body, the devil only knows what might have happened. Our photographs might even have appeared in the newspapers.”
“But do you imagine I meant we should have left the body at our very front door?” queried Pellew, sarcastically. “Couldn’t we have carried it half a mile or so away?”
“But that would have been risky,” commented Royne. “We might easily have been seen as the fog’s practically all gone now.”
“Another thing,” supplemented Rising. “Wherever he’d been found, when they came to make the post mortem it would have been seen he had not been drowned, as there would have been no water in his lungs. Then that in itself would have aroused a lot of interest. Can you imagine the newspapers with headlines. ‘Unfortunate man swims ashore, but escapes drowning only to die of exposure!’ A-ah —” his arm shot out in his agitation —“perhaps that explosion we heard had something to do with his coming here! I never thought of that.” He looked uneasy. “Damnation, we may have publicity forced upon us, in spite of all we can do.”
The next morning Royne and Rising were still asleep when Pellew burst into their room.
“Here, you fellows,” he burst out excitedly, but for all that speaking in low tones. “Look what I’ve just found on the sands. This jacket and, inside it, this paper.” He made a grimace of some amusement. “Our friend, whom we saved last night, and who is now eating bacon and eggs, is a ticket-of-leave man. See, the paper is not very clear because of these oil marks, and the salt water, but it’s a ticket-of-leave licence, sure enough, and his name is Bracegirdle, or something like that.” He nodded grimly. “I’m going to have a talk with the gentleman straight away.”
Gilbert Larose, the one-time international detective, for the nearly-drowned man was he, had passed quite a good night, and, except that he was feeling very stiff and that his eyes were inflamed and sore from the salt water, was very much his strong, vigorous self again.
Going over in his mind all that had happened the previous night, he was of opinion he was a very fortunate man for, until he had turned over from his back when within a hundred yards of the shore, he had not had the remotest idea whether he was close to land or half a dozen miles away from it. He had been quite aware, however, that he could not keep himself afloat much longer.
He had left Great Yarmouth the previous morning, in the motor boat Annette, belonging to his wife’s cousin, in company with Kenneth Bracegirdle, the exconvict.
All had gone well with them until they were close to the South–West Gunfleet buoy, in the King’s Channel, and making for the River Crouch. Then a thick fog had suddenly descended upon them, blotting out all view of everything beyond a few yards, and he had thought it best to anchor, hoping that in a few minutes the fog would disappear as quickly as it had come.
He had sent the man down into the cabin to prepare a meal and was sitting on the bow of the boat with his legs dangling over the side, idly watching the sullen-looking water streaming by.
Then he did not know exactly what happened, but he found himself suddenly struggling in the sea, with his head spinning like a top and a feeling that his eardrums were going to burst. He had a confused recollection of having heard a most tremendous clap of thunder.
His thoughts, however, soon began to take definite shape and, perceiving that the surface of the sea was covered with oil, he realised there must have been an explosion on the boat. Then, seeing no pieces of floating wreckage anywhere about, he knew the boat must have sunk like a stone and taken his companion down with it.
He turned over on to his back and allowed himself to drift with the tide.
All that followed afterwards was like a dreadful dream. He felt so stunned and giddy that his brain would not function properly, but he thought he must have been drifting for hours and hours, with each minute the sea becoming colder and colder and his finding it more and more difficult to keep himself from going under.
Then he remembered at last reaching the shore and throwing himself down in exhaustion. He thought he must have fainted. Next, he remembered, and, strangely enough, his recollection was very clear there, sitting under a window and hearing someone say they must all shoot together, so that no one would know whose bullets had actually killed two men.
This remark stood out most clear-cut in his mind, and his professional instincts returning, he began to dwell upon the situation, turning it over and over in his mind, in his waking moments during the night.
The men in this house, he told himself, were planning cold-blooded murder. So, naturally, they had not been pleased that a stranger had been suddenly thrust among them, and he could quite understand why they had been regarding him with such unfriendly eyes as they had stood round the bed.
He had sensed instinctively then that it had been only the woman who had had any sympathy with him in his half-dead condition.
The next morning, with his strength coming back and his perceptions now perfectly clear, he slowly formed the resolve to find out what this talk about shooting signified. It would be just such an adventure as he would love; and the more risk he ran the greater the thrill he would get out of it.
In one sense, things could not be more fortunate. He was sure the motor boat had been dragged to the bottom by its heavy engine, and so, many days might elapse before it was reported missing. He was supposed to have gone for a fortnight’s cruise round the west coast, and, therefore, no anxiety would be felt by his family if they did not hear from him at once. Besides, he would certainly find some means of soon communicating with his wife and letting her know that all was well with him.
Yes, by hook or by crook he must remain in this house to find out what he could!
So, as he ate the breakfast the woman had brought in to him, he was busy formulating plans and thinking what story he would tell the men when they came in to question him, as, of course, they would soon do.
He had just finished his meal and was sitting up in bed, still wrapped in a blanket, when Pellew entered the room, carrying a coat, which, however, he held behind him.
“Hullo!” said Pellew, “and do you feel all right now?”
Larose’s heart gave a great bump, for he recognised the voice as being that of the man whose remark he had overheard when sitting under the window.
“Yes, thank you,” he replied a little shakily, “and I’m very grateful to you.”
Pellew eyed him with a frown. “Who are you and what happened?” he asked sharply.
“Explosion on a motor boat,” replied Larose slowly. “She sank and I swam ashore. I was swimming for hours.”
“Where abouts were you?” asked Pellew.
Larose seemed uncertain. “Somewhere near the Gunfleet buoy,” he said. “We had anchored when the fog came down.”
“What boat was it?” was the next question.
For a moment Larose hesitated, but then, not knowing if any wreckage had, after all, been washed ashore, he thought it best to speak the truth. “Motor-boat Annette,” he replied. “She belonged to Mr. Harding, of King’s Lynn.”
“Was he on board?” asked Pellew.
“Yes, he was there. We were there together.”
“What became of him?”
Larose shook his head. “He must have been drowned. He was in the cabin and the boat sank at once. The engine must have dragged her down. I called out when I was in the water, but he didn’t answer and everything had disappeared.”
“Were you the mechanic?”
“Yes, I worked for him.”
“What’s your name?”
Larose hesitated. Then he turned his eyes away and looked out of the window. “Henry,” he said. “Henry Wood.”
Instantly then Pellew thrust forward the coat he had all along been keeping out of sight, and asked with a note of sternness in his tone. “Is this yours?”
Larose looked hard at the coat and took a long time to answer, for in a lightning flash of thought he had somehow been put upon his guard. The question had been asked most deliberately, and his interrogator was now regarding him queerly out of half-closed eyes.
“Y-e-s,” he replied, and then he added feebly. “No-o, I’m not quite sure!”
Always a quick-tempered man, and easily roused, Pellew burst out angrily, “Nonsense, of course, you know it’s yours and you are lying to me about your name, too. You are —” he whipped the ticket-of-leave licence from one of the pockets of the coat and scrutinised it with puckered eyes —“you are something Bracegirdle, ah, I have it, Kenneth Bracegirdle. That’s who you are!”
Larose would have liked to have chuckled. Here was he, determined to find out all he could about these men whom he believed to be crooks, and now this one was playing into his hands. As crooks themselves, they would be less likely to be suspicious of a man who had himself been in prison.
So, blinking hard in apparent confusion at being found out, but at the same time a little defiantly, he said with more strength than he had hitherto shown. “Yes, that’s me. I’ve just done a stretch.”
“What for?” snapped Pellew.
“Burglary!” said Larose laconically, “I got ten years.”
“Ten years for burglary!” exclaimed Pellew. His eyes glinted. “Then if you got ten years for that it means that you were carrying a gun with you!”
Larose nodded. “Yes, I was.” He spoke boldly. “But no one has anything against me now. I’ve done my time and it’s all over and done with. I was released on ticket, as you’ve found out, and I intend to go straight”— as a cunning look came into his eyes —“if the damned police let me alone and don’t interfere with me.”
“You say you are a motor mechanic?” said Pellew thoughtfully. “Then are you any good at your work?”
Instantly Larose sensed the question was not an idle one, but he bridled up as if it annoyed him. “For sure, I am. It was my job to keep all the prison lorries going; and a lot of old crocks they were.”
Pellew seemed pleased and proceeded to settle himself down comfortably in a chair. “Tell me about yourself,” he said quietly. “I may be able to help you to another job.” He spoke sympathetically. “I’ve read how the police hound you fellows down and don’t give you a chance to make good. I’ve always thought it a damned shame. How did you come to get caught?”
Larose felt quite sure he had taken Pellew’s measure correctly, and that the worse he made himself out to be, the better light he would stand in his eyes. So he spoke a little boastfully of his cleverness, and by what ill-fortune it was he had been caught. Then he gave so many circumstantial details about so many things connected with prison life that Pellew, as a one-time convict, was speedily convinced he was speaking the truth.
He mentioned the names of the detective who had arrested him and with muttered imprecations, that of the judge before whom he had been tried. Then he spoke bitterly of his years in prison, but how he had ‘stuck it’ and so earned good conduct marks. He said he had come out only three weeks previously, and did not know now what he should do. He had no relatives or friends, and thought he should try to get to one of the colonies.
Larose frowned. “I don’t see why I should tell anyone about it,” he said slowly. “I’d rather it was thought I was dead.” He spoke angrily. “I tell you the police never leave the ticket men alone.”
Pellew heard him through to the end, and then asked. “Well, and where are you going now to tell about the motor boat having gone down?”
And everything he had said appeared most satisfactory to Pellew, as it did also to Rising and Royne when the conversation was repeated to them later.
“And he may be just the fellow we want,” said Pellew. “We’ll get him to have a go at that engine, and we can be sure that for his own sake he won’t talk. He seems a very intelligent man and a bit above the class of the ordinary mechanic.”
So, a couple of hours later Larose, with his clothes dried and a pair of shoes lent to him, was escorted to the shed at the mouth of the River Crouch to give his opinion as to what was wrong with the engine of the launch.
Upon their way across the marsh, he pleased them all again by appearing to be wholly incurious about everything, and generally taciturn and short of speech. When they pointed to the little town of Burnham about three miles away, he did not seem to be in the least interested.
“I don’t know these parts at all,” he grunted. “I’ve lived all my life in the North,” and he added as if it were quite an ordinary and every-day affair “I was sentenced in York.”
Introduced to the roomy thirty-six feet motor launch, he made no comment, and after one careless look round concentrated his attention upon the engine.
“We can get fifteen miles an hour out of her sometimes.” remarked Pellew, eyeing him intently, and curious to find out if he thought the size of the engine unusual.
Larose did not lift his eyes. “That’s not good enough.” he commented. “You should get much more than fifteen. Probably you are not using the right oil.”
The engine being started, he at once announced what was wrong. “Bearings want taking up,” he said, “and that noise means some of the gudgeon pins are loose.”
“You can put them right?” queried Pellew.
“Yes,” he nodded, “but I’ll not start until tomorrow. I’m too stiff and shaky today.”
So he was taken back to Marle House and installed in the regions belonging to the housekeeper. But all day long he hardly spoke a word to her, the conversation being very one-sided. In a chatty way, however, the woman told him the names of the three men and that they were ‘on the Stock Exchange.’ He formed the opinion at once that there was nothing wrong about Mrs. James. She was quite harmless and certainly not in the confidence of her employers if they were up to anything unlawful. Concerning the latter, he had to confess that his first impressions were very puzzling. If he were not quite certain of the remark he had heard through the window, he would have said they were ordinary, inoffensive men, all educated but with Pellew of rather a coarser and rougher type than the other two.
The following morning Pellew and Rising left for the City as usual, Royne remaining behind and, on the pretext of helping Larose, kept a good eye upon him.
But it soon seemed to Royne there was nothing in Larose’s attitude to arouse the slightest suspicion. On the contrary, long before the morning was out, Royne was quite convinced they had nothing to fear from the curiosity of this exconvict motor mechanic. The man was quick and capable in his work, but, apart from that, appeared to be dull and heavy-witted.
But if Royne was satisfied, Larose was not. There were undoubtedly several things about the motor launch which were mysterious. It was heavily engined and, instead of the 15 miles an hour Pellew had so pointedly spoken of, it was capable of doing anything between 30 and 40. Also, the cabin door was kept locked; and when Royne went inside for a couple of minutes he locked it again when he came out.
For the time being, however, it was not in the launch that Larose’s interest lay. It was the contemplated shooting that was intriguing him; and he realised quite clearly that as long as he was working on the engine he was no nearer to finding out what he wanted to.
Then, when back at Marle House in the evening, and explaining everything to Pellew and Rising, he so confused them with technical details that they finally realised he must be taken up to the City to get the parts himself. But he saw plainly they were annoyed about it.
Annoyance, however, would hardly have described their feelings had they known exactly what Larose’s thoughts were as he lay, wide-eyed and thinking hard, in bed that night.
He was puzzling over what their real occupations were, being quite sure that they none of them had anything to do with the Stock Exchange. He had asked for a pencil to draw one of the new parts for the oil-pump he had said he must have, and there had not been one in the house! Neither did any of them possess a fountain pen; and so resort had to be made to Mrs. James’s scratchy nib, and a twopenny bottle of ink upon one of the shelves of the kitchen dresser.
Men on the Stock Exchange without either pencils or a fountain pen in their waistcoat pockets! It was preposterous.
Then were they employes of some stockbroker or working in an office? No, certainly not! Men in subordinate positions did not own a costly Bentley car and take days off to go fishing whenever they wanted to — Mrs. James had told him that — and yet, further, there was the possession of that expensive motor launch to be accounted for. Added to all this, they smoked good cigars and had shared two bottles of vintage Burgundy between them with their dinner that night.
Then what were their occupations?
He must find out, and then, surely, he would be nearer learning whom they were proposing to murder. He did not think the murders were a matter of the next few days, but depended upon some particular happening beforehand. The scene for the crime was to be ‘spied out’ first, and then what Pellew had referred to as ‘the actual shooting’ was to take place at some convenient moment when things were propitious.
Then he asked himself how his journey with them up to the City on the morrow was going to help him, and he frowned in perplexity. He did not know, but devoutly hoped he would be able to pick up some clue he could follow. He would be all eyes and ears, and it would be very bad luck if he did not see or hear something.
And his expectations were certainly justified there, although they undoubtedly would not have been if he had not had the eye of a hawk and let nothing escape him.
Just before eight o’clock they left Marle House in the big Bentley. Larose occupied a seat at the back, with Royne sitting next to him. The car was driven up to the City as far as the Mansion House. Then it was pulled up and he was told he was to make the remaining part of the journey with Royne as his only companion.
For a moment it seemed as if Royne were going to take an omnibus but, looking at his watch, he hailed a taxi and they both got inside.
They were driven to a motor accessory shop in Long Acre and there Larose selected the tools and parts he wanted. He purposely took as long as possible, for he saw Royne, for some reason he did not understand, was in a hurry. But twenty minutes was as long as he could make the business hang out, and then Royne whisked him quickly into the Tube en route for Liverpool Street station, where, so he was informed, they were to catch the 10.30 train to Burnham.
“And we’ll take something to eat with us,” added Royne, “so that we can go straight on with the engine.”
Larose was not surprised. He had felt certain they would not allow him to learn where their place of business was, but the fact that he was now being bundled back to the Essex coast, almost, indeed, seemed as if he were their prisoner, and made him doubly sure they had something very sinister to hide.
But he had not made his journey for nothing, for he knew now, when once he could get away from Marle House, where he would start upon their trail.
It had come about in this way.
Passing through the East End, Pellew had made the mistake of taking the road he apparently always did and, when proceeding through Aldgate, a man standing outside a big garage there had recognised him and put his hand to his forehead as the car had passed.
No one in the car had acknowledged the salutation, but Larose had noticed it, and experienced a great thrill of triumph accordingly.
“He knows them,” he had breathed exultantly, “and quite likely it is there they garage the car every day when they come up. It is probably washed and cleaned there, too, for I saw no pails or leathers in the shed at Marle House, and this car is well kept and looked after. Yes, they are known to that man right enough.”
For the ensuing three days Larose worked energetically upon the engine of the motor launch, with Royne always in close attendance upon him. He was intending now to get away as quickly as possible, and all the time going over in his mind how he could manage it without exciting any suspicion in them that he was not what he had made himself out to be.
Then suddenly, the unpleasant thought came to him that if they were planning the murder of two men, the murder of a third would not greatly trouble them. They could easily knock him on the head and bury him somewhere on the lonely marshes, or easier still, take him out in the motor launch and stun him and throw him overboard!
The idea of this last happening was strengthened when, upon the Thursday night, Pellew was told the engine would be all finished on the morrow.
“Good, then we’ll try her out on Saturday,” he said, “and see what sort of business you’ve made of it. Then, if you like, well keep you on for a couple of weeks or so to do some odd jobs about the house.” He smiled most pleasantly. “Then you’ll go away with enough money in your pocket to see you through until you get regular work somewhere.”
But Larose was now determined to get away on the Friday night. He had not liked the look of Pellew’s smile. Still, he was racking his brains how he could bolt without exciting their suspicions and yet leave behind a good reason for his having gone away.
Then the solution of the whole matter came to him on the Friday evening when he and the housekeeper had just finished their evening meal.
Pellew came into the kitchen and told the woman he wanted her to go into Southminster the next morning and pay some bills, and he gave her a number of notes which Larose saw her put into one of the drawers of the dresser. But he had also seen her count them first and add them up to seven pounds.
The very thing, he told himself in great relief. He would take the money and go off in the middle of the night. Then they would think he had just got tired of working for them and had lapsed back into his old criminal’s ways.
He was quite sure they would make no hue and cry after him, but thought they would be glad he had gone off in that way. Having robbed them, they would be certain he would not dare to mention anything about them and would hold his tongue about ever having been in that part of Essex.
So that night, keeping himself awake with a great effort, about half an hour before he judged it would be getting light, he dressed himself and, having taken the money from the drawer and also a pair of good shoes belonging to Rising to add an artistic touch to his flight, crept out of the kitchen window and made his way boldly to Southminster.
There, he caught the early train to London, and was so confident that he had gauged the situation correctly that it was not until he was well away from Liverpool Street station and actually walking down Fenchurch Street, that he gave a thought to the idea that perhaps the police had been notified and might have been waiting for him upon the arrival of the train.
Upon the following Monday morning, about the time when he judged the three men would be arriving in the City, altogether altered in appearance and at a discreet distance, he was watching the garage in Aldgate Street.
And he had not five minutes of anxiety, for the Bentley appeared with them all inside it, and turned into the garage even earlier than he had expected. Then Royne came out first and walked briskly down Crutched Friars to be followed almost immediately by Rising and Pellew who however, went up Fenchurch Street.
Shadowing these two, Larose saw them part very soon, with Pellew going on to Mincing Lane. It was Pellew then, he followed, and he tracked him down to Great Tower Street and ultimately saw him turn into Curtain Lane and walk into the premises of what he found out a couple of minutes later were those of the Malaga Wine and Spirit Company. He was contemplating a long wait to make sure if they were Pellew’s final destination for the day when, strolling idly by, to his amazement he caught sight of Royne now in his shirt-sleeves, and an apron, sweeping the steps of the entrance to the warehouse.
“Gosh,” he exclaimed, “then this is probably where they all three go. This is their business ‘on the Stock Exchange.’ Then why the devil are they keeping it so dark? It must mean something fishy!”
All day long then, at one end or other of the lane, he kept watch. During the morning, a couple of apparent customers went into the warehouse, and later, he caught a glimpse of Rising showing one of them out. At half-past 12 he trailed Royne to a public-house and saw him come out with three covered luncheons and three pint pots upon a large tray. Later, he trailed him again when he took the lunches back.
Not a soul went near the warehouse during the afternoon, and at 4 o’clock Pellew came out and proceeded leisurely to the garage. Larose had followed him and saw Rising and Royne both turn up there within two minutes of each other and then with no delay the Bentley came out and was driven Essex-wards along Commercial road.
“Well, that’s that,” muttered Larose, “and now what the devil am I to do next?”
But he did not waste much time in considering, and a few minutes later was back once more in Curtain Lane and now giving the outside of the warehouse a much closer inspection than he had hitherto thought it wise to do.
Then, for the first time, he saw there was a ‘To Let’ notice behind one of the windows on the first floor, and, from its dirty and faded appearance, it had evidently been up there for a long time. He perceived now, too, that there was another door to the building, evidently providing a separate entrance to the upper floors.
His eyes gleamed. “Splendid!” he exclaimed. “I’ll get hold of the keys and see if I can do any good up there. The building’s very old and probably in a bad state of repair. So there’s just the chance that by taking up a board or two in one of the rooms above I may be able to hear something of what’s being said below. At any rate, it’s worth trying.”