“Lend me your lamp, Johnson,” said Angel, and taking the bright little electric lamp in his hand, he entered the passage, followed by the others. They reached the foot of the stairs, then Angel reached back his hand without a word, and one of the two men placed therein a stick. Cautiously the party advanced up the stairway that led to Angel’s room.
“Somebody has been here,” said Angel, and pointed to a patch of mud on the carpet. The door was ajar, and Jimmy sent it open with a kick; then Angel put his arm cautiously into the room and turned on the light, and the party waited in the darkness for a movement.
There was no sign, and they entered. It did not require any great ingenuity to see that the place had been visited. Half-opened drawers, their contents thrown on the floor, and all the evidence of a hurried search met their eyes.
They passed from the little sitting-room to the bedroom, and here again the visitors had left traces of their investigations.
“Hullo!” Jimmy stopped and picked up a soft felt hat. He looked inside; the dull lining bore the name of an Egyptian hatter.
“Connor’s!” he said.
“Ah!” said Angel softly, “so Connor takes a hand, does he?”
One of the detectives who had followed them in grasped Angel’s arm.
“Look, sir!” he whispered.
Half-hidden by the heavy hangings of the window, a man crouched in the shadow.