"Ah," said Constable Nightingale, gravely, "if!"
There was a window on the landing, and he opened it. The snow dust floated through it, but in less quantities, and there was a perceptible abatement in the violence of the storm. He closed the window.
"It ain't so bad as it was. Mrs. Middlemore, do you think I could force this door open?"
"Not without tools," said Mrs. Middlemore. "It's made of oak."
"No harm in trying," said Constable Nightingale. "Here, Wigg, give us a pound."
They applied their shoulders with a will, but their united efforts produced no impression.
"It's got to be opened," said Constable Nightingale, "by fair means or foul. Wigg, do you know of a locksmith about here?"
"I don't."
In point of fact Constable Nightingale knew of one, but it was at some little distance, and he did not want to leave Constable Wigg and Mrs. Middlemore alone.
"There's one in Wardour Street," he said.