“Yes, m’lord. But while I’m stopping here they may be getting out at the other side and be off.”
“I’ll watch here,” said Artingale.
“Right, sir. I’ll soon have some one on at the other side. You, sir, watch at the area,”—to Magnus. “If any one comes out and tries to run, you lay hold and stick to ’im. I’ll soon be back.”
“Quick, then; for heaven’s sake, quick!” cried Artingale; and the man went off at a run.
“Let’s go after the cab, Harry,” cried Magnus, excitedly.
“Let’s run after the moon, man. It would be madness. If anything is wrong they are far away by now. But we don’t know yet that anything is wrong. Wait a few minutes. We shall soon find out.”
“And meantime?” panted Magnus.
“We can do nothing but act like men, and remain calm. Go to your post,” exclaimed Artingale; and he spoke in a sharp, decisive way, that showed that the service had missed a good officer.
Five minutes—ten minutes—a quarter of an hour of torture, during which all inside was as still as death. Then as Artingale stood in the open doorway he fancied he heard a slight sound, and as he stood upon the qui vive, ready to seize the first man who presented himself, he heard steps outside, and saw that a policeman was coming.
Steps inside, too, and then from the hall a bull’s-eye lantern flashed upon him.