"I think I'll have to stretch them a bit, sir," the man replied. "We'll wait till he comes out. You'd better let the hall-porter get an extra constable. This Dutchman is a pretty difficult customer to tackle."
The hall-porter, who had been divided between curiosity and nervousness, departed with alacrity. The men spread themselves out a little. The poet and Aaron Rodd affected great interest in the lighting of cigarettes. A small boy in buttons eyed them with immense inquisitiveness. There was something up! He whispered the news to the lift-boy, who had strolled out for a breath of fresh air. A ripple of electrical interest thrilled the group. The hall-porter returned, an unwilling constable in the rear.
"What's this?" he enquired of the elder of the two plain-clothes men. "I can't leave my beat unless there's a charge."
The man showed him a badge. The constable saluted.
"Wait just outside," the former whispered. The hall-porter suddenly thrust his head through the swing doors.
"Party you're enquiring for, sir, has just come out of number two," he announced. "He's stepping into a taxi."
There was a rush for the door, which the poet led. The taxicab was disappearing round the corner as they reached the entrance of the next block of flats. The hall-porter, still dangling his whistle, watched their approach with amazement.
"What address—that taxi?" the inspector asked quickly.
"Monico's, Shaftesbury Avenue."
"Another taxi, quick!"