"Think it out on your way up to the house," Charles advised him, and drove on while this retort was slowly filtering through to the constable's brain.
No light shone from any window in the White House, but since it was now some time past midnight Charles had hardly expected the Colonel to be still up. He drove to the front door, switched off his engine, and got out, thrusting his unwieldy gun into the deep pocket of his overcoat. He found the electric bell, and pressed it. He heard it ring somewhere inside the house, and kept his finger on it for some time.
Nothing happened. Charles rang again, and beat a loud tattoo on the door with the rather ornate knocker.
There was still no answer. The Colonel must be a heavy sleeper, Charles thought, and remembered that Ackerley's butler and cook slept over the garage, a few yards from the house. He stepped back into the drive, and scanned the upper windows, wondering which was the Colonel's room. Setting his hands to form a funnel round his mouth he shouted: "Colonel! Colonel Ackerley!"
No answer came from the house, but a light showed above the garage, and presently a window was thrown up there, and a voice called: "Who is it? What do you want?"
Charles walked along till he stood under this window. The Colonel's butler was leaning out. "I want to use the Colonel's telephone," Charles said. "It's very urgent. Is he in?"
"I'm sure I don't know, sir," the butler answered rather sulkily. "Who are you?"
"Charles Malcolm, from the Priory. I can't make the Colonel hear at the house. Think you could come down and let me in?"
The butler's voice changed. "Mr. Malcolm! I beg your pardon, sir: I didn't recognise you. Yes, sir, I'll be down in just a moment if you wouldn't mind waiting."
He drew in his head, and. Charles paced up and down in front of the house in a fret of impatience. Presently the butler came down, having pulled on a pair of trousers and a coat. "Sorry to keep you, sir. You wish to use the telephone? I hope nothing serious, sir?"