Tom gave the long, low whistle which always typified interest and surprise to him.
“You think the man’s laboratory is somewhere near here, then,” asked Dorothy excitedly.
“Judging by Hamerly’s experience with the sign opposite Dr. Heidenmuller’s laboratory, I certainly do,” I answered seriously. “This probably happened just as that did.”
“Then,” said Tom, “it’s probably up to us to make a house to house canvass of the neighborhood. It looks to me as if the chances were better in one of the buildings on Tottenham Court Road than in any of the houses round here.”
“That’s right,” I answered briefly. “Tell you what we’ll do. We’ll ask at every shop if they know of any chemical laboratory. Tell ’em we’re hunting for a man who works in such a laboratory. Lay it on thick and give ’em plenty of detail. That’s the way to get the information you want.”
“I’ll wait for you in the carriage round the corner,” Dorothy called after us, as we started away.
From bakeshop to dairy, from furniture store to shoe shop, I travelled, searching for some news of my poor Cousin George, who had worked in a laboratory somewhere near the corner of Tottenham Court Road and Gower Street, and who had disappeared. Persistently diplomatic, I forced my way on, under rebuff after rebuff, leaving no store until I had a pretty vivid idea of the various occupations which made their home on every floor of its building. As I left after receiving one particularly stinging answer, I caught sight of Tom across the street, beckoning. I followed him at a little distance until he turned a sharp corner into a little alley. He appeared slightly dishevelled as he turned around.
“See here,” he said abruptly, “I’m afraid we’ll be run in if we keep this up much longer. I’ve been in one row already. Had to knock a man down who made caustic remarks about sneak thieves. What have you got hold of, anyway?”
“Haven’t got hold of a thing,” I responded.