"We have not enough men for that. And I don't think there's any other exit from the factory save that through Rose Cottage. If there was, Maraquito and her two friends would not have played whist so persistently with Miss Loach every night."
"It was three times a week, I think."
"Well, it doesn't matter. Here we are." Jennings opened the garden gate and walked boldly up the path towards the silent house. The men, under the low-spoken directions of Twining, spread themselves round the house so as to arrest any coiner who might attempt escape. Then the detective rang the bell. There was no answer for a few minutes. He rang again.
A window in the cottage was opened cautiously, and the head of Mrs. Pill, in a frilled nightcap of gigantic size, was thrust out. "Is that you, Thomas, coming home at this late hour the worse for drink, you idle wretch, and me almost dead with want of sleep."
"It's a message from your husband, Mrs. Barnes," said Jennings, signing to Twining to keep out of sight. "Come and open the door, and I'll tell you what has happened."
"Oh, lor! is Thomas gone the way of flesh?" wailed Mrs. Barnes, formerly Pill. "Come to the cottage door."
"No. Open this one," said Jennings, who had his own reasons for this particular entrance being made use of. "You know me—"
"Mr. Jennings, as was in the case of my pore, dear, dead lady. Of course I knows you, sir, and the fact as you are police makes me shudder to think as Thomas is jailed for drink. Wait one moment, sir. I'll hurry on a petticoat and shawl. How good of you to come, sir."
When the window shut down, Jennings bent towards the inspector, who was crouching on the other side of the steps. "This woman is innocent," he whispered. "She knows nothing, else she would not admit us so quickly."
"It may be a blind, Jennings. She may have gone to give the gang warning, you know."