Inspector Kenly looked at his watch. The afternoon was young. The Permanent Secretary could be kept waiting for an hour or two longer. The detective, leaving his bag behind him, strolled out into the sun-scorched streets. He had even forgotten that he had eaten no lunch, so eager was he on his quest. He walked briskly towards Westminster Mansions, and could have shouted with delight when he observed his old comrade standing at the open door. "Hello, looking for a breeze," he remarked.
The porter chuckled.
"If you've been locking any up lately, the sooner you let 'em loose again the better I shall be pleased," he remarked.
"It looks cooler inside than out here," said Kenly, with meaning.
The porter winked and led the way inside. Two lift attendants were seated languidly interesting themselves in the cricket intelligence of the latest evening papers.
Kenly glanced at them while he asked in a low tone: "Is there any chance of a private chat?"
His old comrade nodded, and after talking for a few moments on the burning topic of the weather, managed to send both the youths on an errand. Kenly grunted his relief. Directly he was alone with the porter he went straight to the point.
"I want to go over Mr. Lynton Hora's flat," he announced abruptly.
The porter gazed at him in silent astonishment.
"Yes, I mean exactly what I say," he continued, "and the sooner I can do so the better I shall be pleased. I suppose some of your people have a key?"