Ken was in his bedroom when he heard the front-door bell ring. For a long moment he stood motionless, too scared to move. Had the police returned? Was that sergeant going to question him again? Had he given himself away? He looked at the clock on the bedside table. It was ten minutes past nine. Who could it be if it wasn’t the police?
He went furtively to the window and looked out. There was no car at the gate. Then it couldn’t be the police. He crossed the room, opened the door and stepped into the passage.
If he peered around the corner of the passage and across the hall he would be able to see through the glass panel of the front door who the caller was without being seen himself.
He began to edge forward when a movement just ahead of him brought him to an abrupt standstill.
Standing in the middle of the passage, looking up at him, was a fawn Pekinese dog.
The dog stared up at him, its bulging eyes frog-like and expressionless.
Ken turned cold. He stood rooted, paralysed with shock.
He heard a soft footfall in the hall, then around the corner Sweeting appeared. He looked at Ken slyly, then he bent and picked up the dog.
“I must apologize for Leo,” he said. “He shouldn’t have pushed in like that, but I believe he must have taken a liking to you.”
Ken tried to say something, but the words wouldn’t come.