Fortune seemed to be favouring the detective. From previous conversations he had gained a fairly accurate knowledge of the geography of the interior of Hora's residence, and he wasted no time in searching the residential portion of the flat. He went directly to the door where Hora kept his pictures and his books. But here he experienced a rebuff. The door was locked, and the lock was a patent one. Kenly had with him a bunch of skeleton keys, but a very slight trial proved that the lock was unpickable.
He began to cast around for some other means of gaining access, but he saw none within the flat. He passed through all the rooms, glancing round each. He was impressed by the luxury of the furnishing, but there was nothing which could cause anyone to suspect the occupant of anything but highly refined tastes. Kenly had just completed his hasty survey when the telephone bell rang twice.
"D——n!" said the Inspector. He opened the outer door and walked out into the passage outside. He knew that he must not be seen, and he hastily descended the flight of stairs to the floor below, and as he did so the lift passed him ascending upwards. He caught a glimpse of Hora's face.
Kenly waited until the lift descended. The hall porter himself was in charge. He stopped the lift. Kenly entered in silence.
"Find what you wanted?" asked the porter curiously.
"No time," grunted the detective. "I must have a look round another time. If I had only known yesterday what I learned to-day——" He groaned at the thought of what might be hidden beyond that locked door. Still he was not disheartened. He had noted the number of the lock and the name of the maker, and he knew that the next time he called the locked door would prove no barrier to his investigations. Still, days might pass before the opportunity he desired would recur, and it was annoying to feel that opportunity had been lost by so narrow a margin. He bade his friend good-bye and went away at once to the Foreign Office.
The sky had become overcast and the atmosphere was hotter than ever. Visions of a long drink, with cool translucent lumps of ice tinkling against the steamy glass, sorely tempted the detective, but he banished them, and, perspiring himself, he was at last ushered by a perspiring attendant into the presence of a perspiring Permanent Secretary who had wheeled his chair on to a line between the open door and the open window, and sat there in his shirt sleeves in the pathetic belief that a draught of cool air might be tempted to pass that way.
"What is it? What is it?" he snapped at the attendant who entered to announce Inspector Kenly. Then looking up he recognised his visitor standing at the open door.
"Oh, it's you, Kenly. Come in." The attendant withdrew. "And, yes, you had better shut the door." He sighed as if he had thereby ordered the door to be shut on his own salvation.
"Sit down, Inspector, and tell me what you have found out," he added.