“Why not?” asked Tab.
“Because,” said Rex’s voice deliberately, “Carver is in this murder up to his neck!”
Tab nearly dropped the receiver from his hands.
“You are mad,” he said.
“Am I? You shall judge for yourself. And Yeh Ling is in it—hurry!”
Tab ran to the larder and pushed a handful of biscuits into his pocket, put on his raincoat, and went out into the vile night, his mind in a state of chaos.
Carver!
And Yeh Ling was in it too!
The wind had risen and half a gale swept through the deserted Peak Avenue as he strode along to the house of mystery. He did not see Rex until he passed through the gate. That young man was standing under the shelter of the portico by the door. Nearby in the concrete yard Tab saw a car.
“We’ll find our way on in the dark. I’ve got a pocket lamp,” he whispered, and Tab stepped into the dark, deserted hall, with its musty scent and its strangely oppressive atmosphere of decay and neglect.