He therefore said that he was obliged for the other’s offer, which later on he might be glad to accept, but that for the moment he would not make any further move.
“Right, sir. Whatever you say,” Speedwell agreed amicably. “I might add what indeed you’ll be able to guess for yourself from what I’ve told you, that this crowd is a pretty shrewd crowd, and they’ll not, so to speak, be beating the air in this job of yours. They’re going for something, and you may take it from me that something will be worth their going for. At least, if not, I’ll eat my hat.”
“I quite agree with you,” Cheyne returned, fumbling in his pocket. “It now remains for me to write my check and then we shall be square.”
Cheyne counted the hours until four o’clock, and as soon as he dared he set off for No. 17 Horne Terrace. Indeed, he timed his visit so well that as he reached the top of the tenth flight of steps, the door of room No. 12 opened and the model emerged. She held the door open for him, and ten minutes later he was seated in the big armchair drinking the usual cup of fragrant China tea.
Miss Merrill listened with close attention to his story, but she was not so enthusiastic at his success as he could have wished. She made no comment until he had finished and then her remark was, if anything, disparaging.
“I don’t quite like it, you know,” she said slowly. “From your description of him it certainly looks as if that detective was playing a game of his own. It doesn’t sound straight. Do you think you can trust him?”
“Not as far as I can see him, but how can I help myself? I expect the addresses he gave are all correct, but I’m not at all satisfied that he won’t go straight to the gang and tell them he has found me and get their money for that.”
“And you think you wouldn’t be wiser to back out yourself and instruct him to carry on for you?”
Cheyne sat up and took his pipe out of his mouth.
“I’m damned if I will,” he declared hotly. “It might be a lot wiser and all that, but I’m just not going to.”