Cheyne walked slowly round, examining doors and windows. All of these were fastened and he did not see how without breaking the glass he could force an entrance. But he found a window at the back, the sash of which was loose and easy fitting, and decided that in case of need he would operate on this.
Having learned everything he could, he retraced his steps to his companion and they held a whispered consultation. Cheyne was for taking the opportunity of the house being empty to make an attempt then and there to get in. But Miss Merrill would not hear of it. Such a venture, she said, would require very careful thought as well as apparatus which they had not got. “Besides,” she added, “you’ve done enough for one night. Remember you’re not completely well yet.”
“Oh, blow my health; I’m perfectly all right,” he whispered back, but he had to admit her other arguments were sound and the two, cautiously emerging from their hiding-place, walked back to Wembley and took the next train to town.
She was silent during the journey, but as they reached Baker Street she turned to him and said: “Look here, I believe I’ve got an idea. Bring a long-burning electric torch with you tomorrow afternoon and whatever tools you want to open the window, and perhaps we’ll try our luck.” She would not explain her plan nor would she allow him to accompany her to the studio, so with rather a bad grace he said good night and returned to his hotel.
The next day he spent in making an assortment of purchases. These were in all a powerful electric torch, guaranteed to burn brightly for a couple of hours, a short, slightly bent lever of steel with a chisel point at one end, a cap, a pair of thin gloves, a glazier’s diamond, some twenty feet of thin rope and a five-inch piece of bright steel tubing with a tiny handle at one side. These, when four o’clock came, he took with him to Horne Terrace and spread in triumph on Miss Merrill’s table.
“Good gracious!” cried the young lady as she stared wonderingly at the collection. “Whatever are these? Another expedition to Mount Everest?”
“Torch: takes the place of the old dark lantern,” Cheyne answered proudly, pointing to the article in question. “Jemmy for persuading intractable doors, boxes and drawers; cap that will not drop or blow off; gloves to keep one’s fingerprints off the furniture; diamond for making holes in panes of glass; penknife for shooting back snibs of windows; rope for escaping from upstairs windows, and this”—he picked up the bit of tube and levelled it at her—“what price this for bluffing out of a tight place? If the light’s not too good it’s a pretty fair imitation. Also”—he pointed to his feet—“rubber-soled shoes for silence.”
She gave a delightful little ripple of laughter, then became serious.
“Have you no anklets?” she asked anxiously. “Don’t say you have forgotten your anklets!”
“Anklets?” he repeated. “What d’you mean? I don’t follow.”