Broughton delayed a few moments in the inner office to arrange with one of the clerks to take up his work on the Bullfinch during his absence. As he passed out by the counter at which the manager and Mr. Felix were talking, he heard the latter say in an angry tone:—
‘Very well, I will go now and see your Mr. Avery, and I feel sure he will make it up to me for this obstruction and annoyance.’
‘It’s up to me to be there first,’ thought Broughton, as he hurried out of the dock gates in search of a taxi. None was in sight and he stopped and considered the situation. If Felix had a car waiting he would get to Fenchurch Street while he, Broughton, was looking round. Something else must be done.
Stepping into the Little Tower Hill Post Office, he rang up the head office, getting through to Mr. Avery’s private room. In a few words he explained that he had accidentally come on evidence which pointed to the commission of a serious crime, that a man named Felix appeared to know something about it, and that this man was about to call on Mr. Avery, continuing,—
‘Now, sir, if you’ll let me make a suggestion, it is that you don’t see this Mr. Felix immediately he calls, but that you let me into your private office by the landing door, so that I don’t need to pass through the outer office. Then you can hear my story in detail and decide what to do.’
‘It all sounds rather vague and mysterious,’ replied the distant voice, ‘can you not tell me what you found?’
‘Not from here, sir, if you please. If you’ll trust me this time, I think you’ll be satisfied that I am right when you hear my story.’
‘All right. Come along.’
Broughton left the post office and, now when it no longer mattered, found an empty taxi. Jumping in, he drove to Fenchurch Street and, passing up the staircase, knocked at his chief’s private door.
‘Well, Broughton,’ said Mr. Avery, ‘sit down there.’ Going to the door leading to the outer office he spoke to Wilcox.