Over a hasty and ample meal, for a full stomach puts courage into a man, I gave my recruits their instructions, and then the four of us rattled on to Lethbridge Road. Night had fallen before we reached our destination. A dark night, too, for which I was not sorry. Directing the cab where to wait for us, we proceeded to the house.
"How are we to get in?" whispered Wheeler.
I did not answer him, but rang the bell, and gave the double rat-tat of a messenger from the telegraph office.
[CHAPTER XXXIII.]
Whenever a summons of this kind is answered quickly it betokens either that the inmates are in a nervous state or are in dread or expectation of important news. A peaceful household takes things more calmly, and is content to let the telegraph messenger cool his heels on the doorstep. I did not expect this household to be at peace with itself, nor did I wish it, for such a state of things would have augured ill for the success of my expedition. I was therefore pleased to hear a rush of footsteps in the passage, followed by the swift opening of the street door.
The woman who answered the summons held a candle in her hand, and there was nothing particularly clever in my jumping at the conclusion that Louis' mother stood before me. Until this night I had never seen her or her son, nor, so far as I am aware, had they seen me. I had counted upon this as of importance in the move I was about to take. We being in the dark, and Mrs. Fordham in the light, we had the advantage of her.
As she peered forward and held out her hand for the telegram, three of us darted into the passage, Wheeler, Bob Garlick, and myself. Jack was on the watch outside, to be called in by a whistle when he was required. Mrs. Fordham fell back with a shriek of alarm, and a man ran out of the nearest room, crying:
"What's the matter?"
This man had a scar on his forehead.