The candle was low in the socket, we both watched it. Without a second’s warning the flame leapt up and then expired. We were in the dark. Miss Berry screamed, and afterwards I heard her crying. I myself made no sign. Fortunately the dawn broke almost immediately.
By this time I was getting seriously annoyed with Lord Trent. I had served him faithfully, and yet at the moment of my genuine need he had not come to my succour. I went again to the door and knocked with my knuckles. No answer. Then I kicked it. No answer. Then I seized the handle and violently shook it. To my astonishment the door opened. The policeman had forgotten to lock it.
I crept out into the passage, softly closing the door behind me. It was now quite light. The door leading to the street was open, and I could see neither constables nor inspector. I went into the charge room; it was empty. Then I proceeded into the street. On the pavement a piece of paper was lying. I picked it up; it was the note which I had written to Lord Trent.
A workman happened to be loitering along a road which crossed this street at right angles. I called out and ran to him.
“Can you tell me,” I asked, “why all the officers have left the police station?”
“Look ’ere, matey,” he says, “you get on ’ome; you’ve been making a night of it, that’s wot you ’ave.”
“But, seriously,” I said.
Then I saw a policeman at a distant corner. The workman whistled, and the policeman was obliging enough to come to us.
“’Ere’s a cove wants to know why all the police ’as left the police station,” the workman said.
“What police station?” the constable said sharply.