“That’s his bedroom.” Jack Knebworth pointed to a latticed window where a light shone, and Inspector Lyle threw up a pebble with such violence that the glass was broken. Still there was no response.
“I don’t like that,” said Knebworth suddenly.
“You don’t like it any better than I do,” growled the officer. “Try that window, Smith.”
“Do you want me to open it, sir?”
“Yes, without delay.”
A second later, the window of the long dining-room was prized open; and then they came upon an obstacle which could not be so readily forced.
“The shutter is steel-lined,” reported the detective. “I think I’d better try one of the upper rooms. Give me a leg up, somebody.”
With the assistance of a fellow, he reached up and caught the sill of an open window, the very window from which Adele had looked down into the grinning face of Bhag. In another second he was in the room, and was reaching down to help up a second officer. A few minutes’ delay, and the front door was unbarred and opened.
“There’s nobody in the house, so far as I can find out,” said the officer.
“Put a light on,” ordered the inspector shortly.