The man glanced around.
“I’ve got three men round at the back, Mr. Hardaway,” he said. “It’s impossible for any one to leave the place.”
“Anything fresh to tell me?”
“There are two men in the place besides the governor—butler and footman, dressed in livery. They sleep out, and only come after lunch.”
Hardaway paused to consider for a moment.
“Look here,” Quest suggested, “they know all you, of course, and they’ll never let you in until they’re forced to. I’m a stranger. Let me go. I’ll get in all right.”
Hardaway peered around the corner of the street.
“All right,” he assented. “We shall follow you up pretty closely, though.”
Quest stepped back into the taxi and gave the driver a direction. When he emerged in front of the handsome grey stone house he seemed to have become completely transformed. There was a fatuous smile upon his lips. He crossed the pavement with difficulty, stumbled up the steps, and held on to the knocker with one hand while he consulted a slip of paper. He had scarcely rung the bell before a slightly parted curtain in the front room fell together, and a moment later the door was opened by a man in the livery of a butler, but with the face and physique of a prize-fighter.
“Lady of the house,” Quest demanded. “Want to see the lady of the house.”