home; aware, furthermore, that Dr. Petrie had been and had gone . . .
Dimly Fey detected the sound made by the opening of the lift gate, and knew from experience that someone was alighting on that floor. He stood still for a moment listening.
The door bell rang.
He went out into the lobby, placing his pipe in an ashtray on a side table, and opened the door.
Fleurette Petrie stood there, her hair wind-blown, her face pale!
He observed that she wore a walking suit with the strange accompaniment of red bedroom slippers. They were combing the slums of Asiatic Limehouse for her, and here she was!
Fey’s heart leapt. But his face betrayed no evidence of his Joy.
“Oh Fey!” she exclaimed, “thank heaven I have got here!”
“Very pleased to see you, Miss,” said Fey composedly.
He stood aside as she entered, noiselessly closing the door. Her excitement, intense but repressed, communicated itself to him. Its effect was to impose upon him an almost supernatural calm.
“Is Sir Denis in, Fey?”
“No, Miss. But your father was here less than twenty minutes ago.”
“What!”
Fleurette seized Fey’s arm.
“My father! Oh, Fey, were has he gone? He must be in a frightful state of mind about me. And of course, you had no news for him.”
“Very little, but I tried to reassure him.”
“But where has he gone, Fey?”
“He rang up the Commissioner, Miss, and then went across to interview him.”
“He may still be there. Could you possibly get through for me, Fey?”
“Certainly. I was about to suggest it. But can I get you anything?”
“No, Fey, thank you. I am so anxious to speak to my father.”
Fey bowed and went out into the lobby. Fleurette, tingling with excitement, crossed the room and stared out of the bay window down at the misty Embankment. She retraced her steps, and stood by the lobby door, too anxious even to await Fey’s report. He had just got through to Scotland Yard, and:
“Sir Denis Nayland Smith’s man speaking,” he said. “Would you please put me through to the Commissioner’s office?”
There was an interval which Fleurette found barely endurable, then:
“Yes, sir. Sir Denis Nayland Smith’s man speaking. Dr. Petrie left here recently to call upon the Commissioner, and I have something urgent to report to him.”
“Bad luck,” said a voice at the other end of the wire; it belonged to Faversham, the immaculate private secretary. “Dr Petrie and the Commissioner proceeded to Limehouse not more than five minutes ago.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Thank you, sir.”
“What is it?” Fleurette whispered. “Isn’t he there?”
“Just gone out with the Commissioner. But excuse me a moment——” He spoke into the mouthpiece again. “Would it be possible, sir, to reach them at their destination?”
“Yes,” Faversham replied. “It’s some kind of store. I’ll instruct the people downstairs to get in touch with the officer in charge. Do you wish him to give Dr. Petrie any particular message?”
“Yes, if you don’t mind, sir,” he replied. “Tell Dr. Petrie that his daughter has returned.”
“What!” Faversham exclaimed. “Are you sure? Where is she?”
“She’s here, sir.”
“Good God! I’ll get through immediately; this is splendid news!”
“Thank you, sir.”
Fey replaced the receiver, and came out of the lobby.
“Excuse me one moment, Miss,” he said.
He went into the adjoining room and focussed his glasses upon that spot far below where the itinerant match vendor plied his trade.
The man was standing up—and at the very moment that Fey focussed upon him, he sat down again!
Fey placed the glasses on the table, and returned to the sitting-room.
Fleurette had thrown herself into an armchair and was lighting a cigarette. She felt that she needed something to steady her nerves. The mystery of that hiatus between her parting from Alan on the steamer and her awakening in that little Surrey cottage, was terrifying.
“Excuse me, Miss,” said Fey. “But did you by any chance go to the window a moment ago? I mean, just as I went out to the telephone?”
“Yes.” Fleurette nodded. “I did. I remember staring down at the Embankment, thinking how desolate it looked.”
Fey nodded.
“Why do you ask, Fey?”
“I was only wondering. You see I am sort of responsible for you.”
Very thoughtfully, but to Fleurette’s great amazement he went out into the lobby, took up a large briar pipe, lighted it, and began with an abstracted air to walk up and down the room. Astonishment silenced her for a moment, and then:
“Fey!” she exclaimed. “Are you mad?”
Fey took the pipe from between his teeth, and: “Sir Denis’s orders, Miss,” he explained.
CHAPTER
46
GALLAHO EXPLORES
A stifled boom of an explosion snapped the tension which had prevailed in Sam Pak’s shop from the moment that the man from Kinloch’s had finally been satisfied about the position of the charge, to that when, up there on street level, he had pressed the button.
The time occupied in these methodical preparations had driven Gallaho to the verge of lunacy, and now:
“Come on!” he shouted, making for the head of a descending stairway concealed behind the curtain at the end of the bar. “There’s been time for a hundred murders. Let’s hope we’re not too late!”
The stairway led to a kitchen in which was the ingenious door which in turn communicated with that long underground corridor. The masked door was open now and a length of cable lay along the passage.
“Wait for the fumes to clear,” came a voice from behind.
“Fumes be damned!” growled Gallaho; then: “Hell! What’s that?”
A black jagged hole appeared in the wall beside the iron door. A bluish acrid vapour showed in the torch-light But at the moment that the party led by Gallaho entered the passage-way, there came from somewhere beyond the iron door a rending crash as if a battering ram had been driven through concrete.
Now, hard upon it, followed an awful sound of rushing waters echoing, roaring down into some unsuspected depth!
Part of the wall above and to the right of the gap collapsed, and water began to spray out into the passage ....
“I was afraid of this—did I not warn you?” The voice was Schumann’s. “This place is below the tidal level. It is the Thames breaking in!”
“God help them!” groaned Trench, “if they’re down there!”
Ignoring the vapour and the drenching spray, Galllaho, shining the ray of his torch ahead, ducked, and peered through the jagged opening.
“Be careful! The whole place may collapse!”
The spectacle before the detective was an awe-inspiring one. Within a foot of his right hand, a smooth torrent of yellowish water poured out of some unseen gap, crashed upon a dim structure of wood and iron beneath, and from thence leapt out into the darkness of an incredible pit.
His iron nerve was momentarily shaken.
The depth indicated by the tumult of that falling water staggered him. Trench entered behind Gallaho.
