Good-bye. Good-bye for ever. And there was absolutely nothing that could be done about it. He was handing it to the porter when he stopped and looked more sharply at it. "It's smeared all over," he muttered. "Dirty. Just like… What is the stuff on it? Lamp-black, by George!"
The porter — our apologetic friend Frank, who had a wart on his cheek-opened his eyes and spoke unexpectedly.
"Is 'e?" he inquired with interest. "Lamp-black! Gawdlummycharley, I bought lamp-black for Mr. Keppel last night. He sent me out for it. Nine-pennyworth. Ah."
"I begin to see," observed our captor, and his eyes were shinning. "Keppel! You asked' for him when you came in, and made sure he was out. You didn't make any appointment, or he'd have been in; he's fussy. You got out that window. You walked along the ledge. You got into his room… Frank! Have you got the master-key to the Yale lock on Dr. Keeper's door?"
"Ah," said Frank.
"We're going down there now to have a look. You two march in front of me, and don't try any tricks… Wait! Who's that coming upstairs?"
Momentarily he had glanced towards the door, and that second might have been the time to knock his weapon aside. But I did not attempt it, for at Frank's reply our last hope went up the chimney and all future prospects of a wedding dissolved in smoke. Frank replied that it was p'leece. Frank said that it was Inspector Murchison from the Bridewell — which I took to be police headquarters — and Frank seemed relieved. Our captor let out a relieved whoop and call to the deliverer, while Evelyn shut her eyes. Into the room came the burly man with the bowler hat, whom we had seen at the station. He looked round the group, and surveyed us sardonically. But that was not the end of it. Peering beyond his shoulder, eager and pink of face, trotted Mr. Johnson Stone.
Stone pointed to me.
"That's the man," he said.
Evelyn spoke in a somewhat strangled voice, after a pause. "OOoo, you Judas," she breathed. "So it was a game after all! It was ghost stories you were telling us after all. L. isn't dead. I'll bet you're L. yourself. You set him on us, did you? Well, I hope you're satisfied."