He was soon back. “Detective-Inspector Goodall will see you, sir! This way, if you please!”
He piloted Linnell down the lengthy room. A group of men were standing at the far end. Goodall was in the center of the group. Linnell saw a clean-shaven man of medium height and stoutish build—dressed in a double-breasted blue serge suit. He awaited Linnell’s approach with uplifted eyebrows.
“Mr. Linnell?” he interrogated—quickly and decisively. “Of——?”
“Merryweather, Linnell and Daventry—Cornhill,” replied Linnell—to the point as always. “I am the senior partner of the firm.”
“You have important information for me, I understand,” cut in Goodall.
“Information,” corrected Linnell. “You must be the judge of its importance.”
“Well, I’m listening, Mr. Linnell. Go ahead!”
“Before I tell you what I know—would you, in your turn, be good enough to tell me if the rumors that are traveling round outside—are correct? Are you investigating a case of murder and robbery?”
“I am! A robbery has taken place here since shutting-up hours last evening—and a poor devil of a watchman been bashed on the head—he’s as dead as mutton. Where do you come in?”
“Maybe not at all, Inspector. But my firm had a rather peculiar commission entrusted to it yesterday in relation to the sale that was to have taken place here to-morrow. And it struck me when I heard——”