Sheila Bitton's voice could be heard, too, when she answered it. And in a moment she thrust her face round the door.
`It's for you, Mr Hadley,' she said. `Something about a Mr Arbor. Is that our Mr Arbor?'
Hadley almost broke into a run.
16. What Was Left in the Fireplace
Sheila Bitton jumped in astonishment when she saw the expressions on the faces of those who crowded past her. Her own expression indicated that it was undignified. She had discarded hat and coat, to show fluffy yellow hair tousled about; her head, and a dark frock with the sleeves now rolled up about the wrists.
Hadley was at the telephone, and Dr Fell bent over him' in the little, study. On the doctor's face was an expression Rampole had never seen before he ' could not decide whether it was nervousness, or fear, or hope. But Dr Fell was certainly nervous. Rampole never forgot the weird picture they presented in that time…. Hadley listening intently to a buzz where words were almost distinguishable in the silent room; Dr Fell bent forward against the line of the bookshelves; the black ribbon on his glasses dangling, his shovel-hat on the back of his head.
Silence, except for the faint, rapid voice in the telephone. Hadley spoke only twice, in monosyllables. Then, without hanging up the receiver, he turned.
'Well?' demanded Dr Fell.
`It worked. Arbor, left his friends, the Spenglers, early in the evening, and Spengler walked with him to his cottage. Our plain-clothes man was watching from the garden; he'd got his instructions already, and he seems to have played up to them. First Arbor went through the cottage, switching on all the lights, but he immediately closed the shutters after he'd done it. There are diamond-shaped holes in the bottoms of the shutters, though, and the constable worked close enough so that he could look in through the holes.
`Arbor and his friend were in one of the front rooms, where the covers hadn't been taken off the furniture. They were sitting in front of the fire, playing chess, with a bottle of whisky beween them, and Arbor looked nervous. This, I judge, was about two hours ago. Then the constable got busy. He walked up and down loudly on the gravel, and then dodged round the side of the house. In a moment Arbor's friend, Spengler, opened the shutters and looked out then he closed them again. That sort of game went on for some time. They phoned for a policeman and the policeman flashed his bull's-eye all round the garden, but of course he didn't find our man. When it had all quieted down again, and our man was back at the window, he decided to rush matters. Arbor seemed to be trying to persuade Spengler of something, and Spengler wouldn't listen. Then our man went back and rattled the knob of the scullery door. The next minute he was around the side of the concrete garage, and it's a good thing he was. Somebody opened the scullery door and stuck out a revolver and began firing shots blindly all over the, garden. That brought down all the policemen within half a mile; there was a devil of a row and Spengler had to show his pistol permit. When the row quieted down, Arbor insisted on going to the station with them and getting in touch with me. And he insists on speaking to me personally.'