“You shall come and chaperon me,” said his superior.
But a disappointment awaited. Mrs. Lexman was not in and neither the ringing at her electric bell nor vigorous applications to the knocker brought any response. The hall porter of the flats where she lived was under the impression that Mrs. Lexman had gone out of town. She frequently went out on Saturdays and returned on the Monday and, he thought, occasionally on Tuesdays.
It happened that this particular night was a Monday night and T. X. was faced with a dilemma. The night porter, who had only the vaguest information on the subject, thought that the day porter might know more, and aroused him from his sleep.
Yes, Mrs. Lexman had gone. She went on the Sunday, an unusual day to pay a week-end visit, and she had taken with her two bags. The porter ventured the opinion that she was rather excited, but when asked to define the symptoms relapsed into a chaos of incoherent “you-knows” and “what-I-means.”
“I don't like this,” said T. X., suddenly. “Does anybody know that we have made these discoveries?”
“Nobody outside the office,” said Mansus, “unless, unless...”
“Unless what?” asked the other, irritably. “Don't be a jimp, Mansus. Get it off your mind. What is it?”
“I am wondering,” said Mansus slowly, “if the landlord at Great James Street said anything. He knows we have made a search.”
“We can easily find that out,” said T. X.
They hailed a taxi and drove to Great James Street. That respectable thoroughfare was wrapped in sleep and it was some time before the landlord could be aroused. Recognizing T. X. he checked his sarcasm, which he had prepared for a keyless lodger, and led the way into the drawing room.