“Yes, sir, at those times.”
“But you wouldn’t leave the flat unlocked?”
“No, sir, of course not; but there was only the one latch;” and the man led the way to the door.
Tempest wondered at the array of bolts and chains which was there, and doubtless brought into use every night when three people were sleeping in the flat; whilst all the time a single drop latch was the only protection when the place was unoccupied.
“Who carries the key?”
“There are two, sir. I carry one and Mr. Baxter has one.”
“Has yours ever left your possession?”
“Never, sir.”
“Well, Bailey, unless you or your master are hiding something from me, the explanation of this revolver business must come from you. Can you suggest anything? Look here, I’m on Mr. Baxter’s side, so you needn’t mind what you say to me. Tell me anything you know or can think of—no matter how black it looks. The truth always helps, no matter what it is, when a prisoner is innocent.”
The man hesitated, and Tempest saw at once there was something to come out. He began once or twice in a stammering way, and then stopped.