“By all means,” I said, “I will show you the room.”
“I had better go and bear a hand, in case you want any help,” Edmund said, rising.
The sergeant looked approvingly at his athletic form and thanked him.
“I suppose there is no doubt of this being the right man?” I hazarded.
“He is certainly the man referred to in my instructions. If you don’t mind we’ll go at once, and very quietly, please. I will go first and get on the far side of him; Davis, you follow and grip him, and look out for a knife. These fellows are handy with them.”
We all rose, the bishop, who had not spoken, following us to the door.
We stepped noiselessly across the carpeted hall, and I pointed out the door of the morning-room, my heart beating almost as fast as though Jakoub had still been there in fact.
Sergeant Moore opened the door and slipped inside, followed closely by Davis. I heard an oath of extreme impropriety from the sergeant, followed by the shrill sound of his whistle.
We followed them into the room, and found both policemen leaning out of the open window. Sergeant Moore blew another blast on his whistle, and then turned round, his face flushed with vexation.
“He has done us again, sir. For the present, that is—bolted through the window! Halt there!” he cried, looking out of the window again as a constable came round from the front in response to the whistle. “Get your bull’s-eye going, and come carefully up to the window, but don’t pass it. Look for tracks of someone leaving the house this way.”