The lighted clock on the dashboard showed twenty minutes past eleven as Adams pulled up outside 25 Lessington Avenue.
During the short drive from the hospital he had remained silent, hunched up behind the driving-wheel, while Watson sat beside him, hoping for some explanation which didn’t come.
Adams got out of the car and Watson followed him.
They walked up the steps, opened the front door and, with Adams leading, they climbed the stairs to Raphael Sweeting’s apartment.
As Adams paused outside the door, he said, “This guy’s going to make a statement. Get it down!”
“Yes, sir,” Watson said, wondering who the guy might be.
Adams rang the bell and waited.
There was a long delay, then the door opened cautiously and Sweeting, a
damp sponge held to his right eye, looked first at Adams and then at Watson. He seemed to shrivel under Adams’ hard stare, and he stepped back hurriedly.
Adams walked into the room, and Watson followed him.