“Pseudo-Chinese,” said Carver. “It may even be the genuine article.” He pulled out the knife, tested the razor-like edge, “And sharp,” he said. “I had an idea he didn’t mean to use his gun.”
“Now,” said Tab, facing the detective squarely, “we will dispense with all light and airy persiflage and come down to sober affidavits. You expected this attack. That is why you came tonight with your fake story of a literary-minded nephew.”
“I did and I didn’t,” said Carver frankly. “When I told you that the attack would be made on me, I half believed it, but as I couldn’t find an excuse for getting you to stay with me, and, moreover, as I have no accommodation for a man of your luxurious habits, I decided on the whole I’d take a chance by staying here.” He looked at his watch. “Two o’clock,” he said. “He must have come about a quarter of an hour ago, and I will give him this credit, that I did not hear the door open. Fortunately there was a clothes hook behind the door and sometime or other you hung an old hat there. It was hearing this hat fall that made me realise that either I was growing deaf, or else the stealthy personage was unusually soft-footed. He must have seen first my cigar, and then my outline as I rose, for like a fool, I hadn’t pulled the settee away from the window. He was back in the lobby in a flash and before I knew what had happened he had fired twice, slammed the door and gone. He was still in the hall when I went out, but it was so dark that I could see nothing.”
“I thought I heard the door first.”
“Because you were asleep,” smiled the detective, “and you hear the last sound first. No, I will give you a guarantee that he shot at me before he shut the door.” His eyes narrowed. “I wonder,” he said softly.
“What?”
“I wonder if your friend has had a duplicate of this attack? Where is he staying?”
“I think we ought to warn him, anyway,” said Tab. “Our visitor came in the first place to burgle Rex’s trunks and probably he doesn’t know that Rex isn’t staying here. He is at the Pitt Hotel.”
Carver got the telephone directory and discovered the number. It was some time before he had an answer, for the clerks at the Pitt Hotel are not accustomed to calls at that hour of the morning. Presently he got into touch with a porter.
“I don’t know whether he is staying here, but I will find out,” said that official.
It was ten minutes before he had made the discovery.
“Yes, he is in Room 180. Shall I put you through?”
“If you please,” said Carver. He heard the click and clug of the connection being made and after an appreciable delay Rex’s sleepy voice answered him.
“Hullo, who is that? What the devil do you want?”
“I’ll talk to him,” whispered Tab and took the receiver from the detective’s hands.
“Is that you Rex?”
“Hullo, who is that, Tab? What’s the idea?”
“We have had a visitor,” said Tab. “You remember I told you about the burglar? Well, he came again tonight.”
“The devil he did.”
“In fact, we’ve turned the old flat into a shooting gallery,” said Tab, “and Carver wonders whether you have had a similar experience.”
“Not I,” was the cheerful reply. “It is as much as a man’s life’s worth to wake me out of my sleep.”
Tab grinned.
“Keep your door locked.”
“And my telephone receiver off,” said the other. “I’ll let you know if anything happens. Is Carver there?”
“Yes,” said Tab.
Carver went to the phone.
“He wants to speak to you.”
Carver had made a signal and now he took the receiver in his hand.
“I am sorry you have been disturbed, Mr. Lander,” he said, “but I’d like you to know officially that we warn you that an attempt has been made to get into this flat at—well ten minutes ago. What time would that be?”
“That would be about a quarter of two, I guess,” said Rex’s voice. “Thank you for telling me, Inspector, but I am not at all scared.”
Carver put the receiver on the hook and rubbed his hands.
“Do you think they will go there? What on earth is amusing you?” asked Tab irritably.
“I am intensely amused, I admit,” said Carver, “at the queer and simple error that our murderer made.”
Early in the morning Carver called at the Pitt Hotel and personally interviewed a sleepy-eyed Rex, who sat up in bed in violently striped pyjamas and expostulated with commendable mildness upon the interruption to his night’s sleep.
“I am one of those people,” he said severely, “who require at least twelve hours’ heavy slumber. Heaven having endowed me with the means whereby I can gratify my wishes in this respect, it is a little short of an outrage that Tab and you should call me up even to tell me that the flat has been burgled again.”
Reporting his interview on his return to the flat, Carver offered a few remarks on the vagaries of masculine fashions, particularly in relation to pyjamas, and came back at a tangent to the very serious events of the past twelve hours.
“I think you’ll be all right tonight,” he said. “At any rate, I am leaving you to your own devices. Bolt the door and put a trip wire between a couple of chairs.”
“Oh nonsense!” said Tab. “He will not come again tonight.”
Carver scratched his chin.
“What is tonight.”
“Saturday.”
“The fatal Saturday eh?” he said. “No, perhaps not. What are you doing today?”
“I am driving a friend into the country, or rather she is driving me,” said Tab promptly. “It is my weekend off, but I shall be back in town tonight.”
Carver nodded.
“Ring me up the moment you are back. Will you promise that?”
And Tab laughed.
“Certainly I will if it is any satisfaction to you.”
“If you don’t ring me, I shall ring you at intervals throughout the night,” threatened Carver. “I
