The Mysterious Three Part 28

"Yes? But what?"

"Well, for the last eight nights there's been a light in a window on the first floor."

"A light? But how could you see a light if there were one, with the windows boarded up?"

"Oh, it can be seen right enough, through the c.h.i.n.ks between the boards."

"Who has seen it?"

"I have--and others also."

"Is it always in the same window?"

"Not always in the same window, but always on the same floor. Ah, no!

On two nights there was a light on the second floor too."

"And at what time is it seen?"

"Very late--not before two in the morning, as a rule."

"And how long does it remain?"

"Sometimes for five or ten minutes, sometimes as much as half-an-hour, or more. Three nights ago two windows were lit up at one-twenty and remained lit until two-fifty-five."

"And do you mean to say n.o.body goes into the house or comes out of it?"

"n.o.body. n.o.body at all. It's being watched front and back. Twice we've been in and hunted the place all over--we got leave to do this-- but there was nothing, nor no one nowhere."

"Oh," I exclaimed incredulously, "that is a ridiculous thing to say. If a light really appears and disappears, there must be somebody in the house. Probably there's a secret entrance of which you know nothing about."

"There are only three entrances," he answered quickly, "and one of 'em can't rightly be called an entrance. There's the front door, and the back door for the tradesmen, and then there's a queer little way out into Crane's alley--we can't think why that entrance was ever made."

The "queer little way out" I at once guessed to be the dark, underground, narrow little stone cellar-pa.s.sage through which Vera had led me when we had escaped together on the day I had discovered her hidden in the house.

"And are the entrances all locked?" I asked. "Oh, you may take that from me," he replied. "They are locked right enough, and n.o.body don't get the keys, neither."

At that moment, oddly enough, the thought of the curious-looking brown stain in the corner of the ceiling on the first floor, that I had noticed on the day I had explored the unoccupied house, came suddenly back into my mind.

I must have talked to the policeman for fully fifteen minutes, and had asked him many questions. Before the end of that time I had, however, discovered that he was of a superst.i.tious nature, and that he did not at all like what was happening.

I pondered for a little while, then I said--

"Look here, officer"--if you want to please a policeman always call him "officer"--"I am going to peep into that room, and you must help me."

"Me, sir?"

"Yes, you. What are policemen for, except to help people? Now listen.

I can't, of course, get into the house, but I am going to arrange for a ladder to be brought here to-night that will reach to the first-floor windows. This street is, I'm sure, quite deserted in the small hours of the morning. The ladder will be hoisted up by the men who bring it, you will keep an eye up and down the street to see that n.o.body comes along to interrupt us. Then I shall crawl up the ladder and peer in at the window. If there is s.p.a.ce between the boards wide enough to admit light, the s.p.a.ce must be wide enough to enable me to peep into the room."

"It's a bit risky, sir."

"Risky? Not the slightest. I'll make it worth your while to undertake what risk there is. So that is understood. You are on duty here to-night at two o'clock?"

"Oh, yes, sir, but--"

"There is no `but.' I shall see you later, then."

I returned to King Street. My man John had a friend who worked for a builder, he told me. This friend of his would, he said, arrange everything, and be delighted to. Oh, yes, he had a ladder. He had several ladders. He could bring along single-handed, a ladder the length I wanted, and set it in position.

This was satisfactory. I went to a theatre in order to kill time, for I felt excited and terribly impatient. I had not told Vera of my plan, or Faulkner, or indeed anybody but the policeman.

The builder's man was punctual to the minute. He had concealed the ladder in Crane's Court before dark, thinking suspicion might be aroused were he to be seen carrying a ladder through the streets of London in the middle of the night. Two o'clock had just struck, when he crept stealthily into Belgrave Square with the ladder over his shoulder.

Acting upon my instructions, he laid it flat upon the pavement.

Impatiently I waited. A quarter-past two chimed on some far-distant clock. Still the windows remained in darkness.

Twenty minutes pa.s.sed... Twenty-five... I began to feel anxious.

Would this mysterious visitor not come to-night? That would indeed be a bitter disappointment. Ah!

The light had appeared. It was on the first floor. Now it percolated feebly between the boards covering two windows.

At a signal from me the man picked up the ladder, raised it to a vertical position, then let it rest, without a sound, against the window-sill.

"All right, sir," he whispered to me.

Restraining my excitement, I began slowly, cautiously, to creep up the rungs.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

CONTAINS A FURTHER SURPRISE.

The boards covering the windows were about an inch thick, but, with the slovenliness unfortunately too common among British workmen, they had been nailed up "anyhow," and between the two boards immediately facing me was a s.p.a.ce an inch or more. Through that, I saw the weak light, as of a candle.

Two rungs higher up I climbed, leant forward, and endeavoured to glue my eye to this crack, in order to peer into the room.

It was by no means easy to see more than a narrow strip of the room, and that strip was empty. Guessing, however, that something I should be able to see must soon happen in the room, I decided to wait. I suppose I must have waited about five minutes--it seemed like a quarter of an hour--my eye was beginning to ache, and I had a crick in my neck, when of a sudden a shadow fell across the bare boards--the strip of floor that I could see--and then a second shadow. A moment later a man stood in the room, his back to the window, a light in his hand. At once I recognised the man by his colossal stature.

It was the dark giant I knew as Davies.

What was he doing? I could not see. Some one was beside him, also with his back turned. I started. This second man was Sir Charles Thorold, undoubtedly. They were conversing, but I could not, of course, catch their words.

Sir Charles was bending down. He seemed to be on all fours. Now Davies was on all fours too. They were both crawling on all fours about the floor, as though searching for something.

With breathless interest I watched them. They had pa.s.sed out of my range of vision, though a pair of feet were still visible. The feet remained in sight for quite a long time, ten minutes or more. Then they too disappeared.

"What on earth are they about?" was my mental comment. "What can they be seeking?"

It had seemed obvious that they had been trying to find something.