“It’s going to be an affair of mine, then,” said Perkwite. “I’m going off to the police!”
Millwaters put out a detaining hand.
“Don’t, Mr. Perkwite!” he said. “To get police into a quarter like this is as bad as putting a light to dry straw. I’ll tell you a better plan than that, sir—find the nearest telephone-box and call up our people—call Mr. Carless, tell him what you’ve seen and get him to come down and bring somebody with him. That’ll be far better than calling the police in.”
“Give me your telephone-number, then,” said Perkwite, “and keep a strict watch while I’m away.”
Millwaters repeated some figures and a letter, and Perkwite ran off up the street and toward the Whitechapel Road, anxiously seeking for a telephone booth. It was not until he had got into the main thoroughfare that he found one; he then had some slight delay in getting in communication with Carless and Driver’s office; twenty minutes had elapsed by the time he got back to the dismal street. At its corner he encountered Millwaters, lounging about hands in pockets. Millwaters wagged his head.
“Here’s another queer go!” he said. “There’s been another arrival at Number 23—not five minutes since. Another of our little lot!”
“Who?” demanded Perkwite.
“Viner!” replied Millwaters. “Came peeping and perking along the street, took a glimpse of the premises and the adjacent purlieus, rang at Number 23, and was let in by—the party that came with Miss Wickham! Now, whatever can he be doing there, Mr. Perkwite?”
“Whatever can any of them be doing there!” muttered Perkwite. “Viner! What business can he have in this place? It seems—by George, Millwaters,” he suddenly exclaimed, “what if this is some infernal plant—trap—something of that sort? Do you know, in spite of what you say, I really think we ought to get hold of the nearest police and tell them—”
“Wait, Mr. Perkwite!” counselled Millwaters. “Our governor is a pretty cute and smart sort, and he’s vastly interested in this Miss Wickham; so Portlethwaite and he’ll be on their way down here now, hot foot; and with help, too, if he thinks she’s in any danger. Now, he can go straight to that door and demand to see her, and—”
“Why can’t we?” interrupted Perkwite. “I’d do it! Lord, man, she may be in real peril—”
“Not while Viner’s in there,” said Millwaters quietly. “I might possibly have gone and rung the bell myself, but for that. But Viner’s in there—wait!”
And Perkwite waited, chafing, at the corner of the dismal street, until a quarter of an hour had passed. Then a car came hurrying along and pulled up as Millwaters and his companion were reached, and from it sprang Mr. Carless, Lord Ellingham and two men in plain-clothes, at the sight of whom Perkwite heaved a huge sigh of intense relief.
XXVII
The Back Way
Viner was so sure that the sound which he had heard on Mrs. Killenhall’s retirement was that caused by the turning of a key or slipping of a lock in the door by which he had entered, that before speaking to Miss Wickham he instantly stepped back and tried it. To his astonishment it opened readily, but the anteroom outside was empty; Mrs. Killenhall had evidently walked straight through it and disappeared.
“That’s odd!” he said, turning to Miss Wickham. “I distinctly thought I heard something like the snap of a lock, or a bolt or something. Didn’t you?”
“I certainly heard a sound of that sort,” admitted Miss Wickham. “But—the door’s open, isn’t it?”
“Yes—that is so,” answered Viner, who was distinctly puzzled. “Yet—but then, all this seems very odd. When did you come down here?”
“About an hour ago,” replied Miss Wickham, “in a hurry.”
“Do you know why?” asked Viner.
“To see a Dr. Martincole, who is to tell us something about Mr. Ashton,” replied his fellow-sharer in these strange quarters. “Didn’t Mrs. Killenhall ask you to come down for the same purpose, Mr. Viner?”
Viner, before he replied, looked round the room. Considering the extreme shabbiness and squalour of the surrounding district, he was greatly surprised to find that the apartment in which he and Miss Wickham waited was extremely well furnished, if in an old-fashioned and rather heavy way. The walls were panelled in dark, age-stained oak, to the height of several feet; above the panelling were arranged good oil pictures, which Viner would have liked to examine at his leisure; here and there, in cabinets, were many promising curiosities; there were old silver and brass things, and a shelf or two of well-bound books—altogether the place and its effects were certainly not what Viner had expected to find in such a quarter.
“Yes,” he said at last, turning to his companion, “that’s what I was brought here for. Well—have you seen this doctor?”
“No,” answered Miss Wickham. “Not yet.”
“Know anything about him?” suggested Viner.
“Nothing whatever! I have heard of him,” said Miss Wickham with a glance of surprise. “I suppose he—somehow—got into touch with Mrs. Killenhall.”
“Queer!” remarked Viner. “And why doesn’t he come in?”
Then, resolved to know more, he walked into the anteroom, and after a look round it, tried the door by which Mrs. Killenhall had admitted him after coming up the stairs from the street; a second later he went back to Miss Wickham and shook his head.
“It’s just as I supposed,” he remarked quietly. “We’re trapped! Anyway, the door of that anteroom is locked—and it’s a strong lock. There’s something wrong.”
The girl started, and paled a little, but Viner saw at once that she was not likely to be seriously frightened, and presently she laughed.
“How very queer!” she said. “But—perhaps Mrs. Killenhall turned the key in the outer lock so that no—patients, or other callers, perhaps—should come in?”
“Sorry, but that doesn’t strike me as a good suggestion,” replied Viner. “I’m going to have a look at that window!”
The one window of the room, a long, low one, was set high in the wall,
