I was white with dust and wet through with sweat. The girl looked me over and said:
"I have orders to telephone for him if he is wanted."
"He is," I replied, and she went off to the telephone at once.
I began to cool down in more ways than one while I waited. It seemed to me very likely that I had come upon a fool's errand. After all, what had I got to go upon but a German accent, a low, sharp whistle, and an electric torch? I waited about half an hour before Bowyer came in. He was a big man, with a strong face and a fair moustache, capable, but not imaginative; and I began my story with a good deal of diffidence. But I had not got far before his face became serious, though he said not a word until I had done.
"Bradley Rymer's house," he then remarked. "I know it." He went out into the passage, and I heard his voice at the telephone. He came back in a moment.
"I have sent for some men," he said, "and a car. Will you wait here while I change?"
"Yes."
I glanced at the clock. For now that he took the affair seriously all my fears had returned.
"What time did you leave the house?" he asked.
"Nine."