“Nothing more than that. Simply asked if I were speaking, and said ‘Superintendent Sinclair wants to speak to you at once if you can come,’ and rang off.”
“Well, I’m damned,” said Sinclair.
“You may be for all I know, but I was just off to tennis,” and he glanced at his flannels. “I suppose someone has been playing the fool. I’ll get off.”
“Stop. If they have, they have been trying to fool me, too,” and he told of the message he had received.
Collins listened with interest.
“What have you done?” he said.
“I asked Lewis to find out where the Home Secretary was. I expect he has found him now. The thing is absurd.”
Lewis came in.
“Well?” said Sinclair.
“The Home Secretary is not in the House or at the Home Office. They do not know where he is.”
“Call up his house,” said Sinclair, irritated.
“Better not,” said Collins. “If there’s nothing in it we don’t want to look fools, and if there has really been murder done the less known the better. I’ll tell you what—I have my car outside. Let’s run up to his house in Leveson Square. You can make some excuse. You often want to see him.”
The Superintendent made a face. “I’m not big enough to go calling on the Home Secretary.”
“Never mind, fake up something. I’ll come with you.”
“All right, I’ll bring two plain clothes officers in case there is anything in it. We often have to keep a special watch there, so that’ll be quite in order.”
Collins laughed. “Thank goodness I am not official. What a lot of red tape you people have.”
“Why, what would you have done, then?”
“Charged up and asked him if he were dead by any chance.”
“Come along.”
Lewis had been listening to them.
“Come along, Lewis, and bring Smith,” said Sinclair.
To his surprise Lewis was as white as chalk, and his hand trembled.
“If you don’t mind, sir,” he said, “I would much rather not come. I don’t feel very well.” Collins gazed keenly at him for a moment.
“How long have you felt ill?” he said.
“Only just a few minutes ago, sir, I think it’s the heat.”
“Let’s get someone else, then, only hurry along, I want to get to my tennis,” said Collins impatiently.
Sinclair was about to grumble, but a look from Collins made him silent. “Go and get two men then at once. Tell them to meet us at the door.”
“What the devil was the matter with Lewis?” said Sinclair in the car. “He is my right-hand man.”
“Dunno,” said Collins who was driving, “wait till we know what has happened.”
Every incident that transpired from that moment was so stamped on the memory of the two men that there was no mistake about the facts.
On arriving at the door of the Home Secretary’s house, Sinclair stationed Smith at the front entrance, with orders not to show himself, but to watch.
The second man was disposed at the back, where was a high wall, but no actual entrance. The basement opened into an area in front.
The two men ascended the front steps and Sinclair rang the bell. An aged housekeeper, Mrs. Simmons, opened the door.
“Is the Home Secretary in?” said Sinclair.
“Yes, sir, he’s in his study,” she looked at the men doubtfully, “he did not wish to be disturbed.”
“When did you see him last?” said Collins, looking at her keenly.
“Why, about half an hour back, sir,” said she in surprise.
“What fools we have been,” said Sinclair, “we’d better go.”
“Not at all. Now we are here we will see him. We can ask him about Blake who is to be hanged next Thursday. There’s a big petition you know for a reprieve.”
“Very good, but it’s a fool’s errand.” He turned to the housekeeper.
“Would you kindly take my card to Sir James, and ask him if he could spare me a minute?”
When the woman had gone, Sinclair said, “I shall get hell for this. He will ask me what it has got to do with me, and why I did not use the ordinary channels.”
“Leave it to me,” said the other with his easy confidence. He generally got his own way in most things.
After a brief interval Mrs. Simmons returned.
“I have knocked twice,” she said, “but there is no answer. I expect he is asleep. I hardly like to disturb him unless it is a very important matter.”
The two men exchanged glances.
“I am afraid it is,” said Collins. “We had better see. This is Superintendent Sinclair from Scotland Yard.”
At the name the old woman turned pale.
“Scotland Yard?” she stammered. “I hope nothing is wrong?”
“Why should anything be wrong,” said Collins. “The Home Secretary often sees officials from the Yard, doesn’t he?”
“Yes,” said she; “but there have been some queer things today here.”
“What things?” said Collins.
“Oh, come along, don’t start asking questions now,” said Sinclair. The two men entered the hall.
The housekeeper disappeared down the stairs, but the others did not notice her departure at the moment.
They made for the library door where the housekeeper had knocked. Sinclair tried the handle. The door was locked. He knocked loudly, but there was no response.
“We shall have to break the door down,” said he.
“Oh, that’s very clumsy,” said Collins, “and makes such a noise.” Stooping down he examined the lock.
“That’s an easy matter, the key is in the lock.”
He produced a fine pair of pliers, and deftly gripping the end of the key, turned it without difficulty.
“You would make a good burglar,” laughed the superintendent. Collins opened the door and glanced round.
The room was in semidarkness, and after the glare outside it was hard to see anything for a moment. By the empty grate was a large armchair, and seated in this was the familiar figure of the Home Secretary, Sir James Watson. He was huddled up in his chair, and his head was at a curious angle to his body.
Sinclair was about to advance into the room.
“Stop,” said the other. “For Heaven’s sake don’t go inside and leave footmarks. Whatever is the matter, this requires a doctor.
