CHAPTER XVII
The night was fine but still very dark. An hour or so hence the moon at its full would make many things visible, and chiefly for that reason but also because he desired to return to London the same night, Bullard with his unsavoury companion, had arrived thus early at the gates of Grey House. Yet now it looked as though his programme would have to be abandoned, or, at any rate, drastically altered. For the house, as was plain to see, was occupied. There was no great display of lights, but a ruddy glow shone through the glazed inner door, and a thin white shaft fell from a slit between the drawn curtains of the familiar upper room.
"Caw taking a look round, no doubt," remarked Bullard, recovering from his first annoyance. "Wonder where the beggar has his lodgings and how long he is likely to hang about.
"Is the game up, mister?" asked the man at his elbow. "Cause if so, I'll just remind ye that I got to get paid, results or no results. Ye brought me here to open a door for ye, and 'tisn't my fault if the door's open already."
"Shut up till I've thought a bit." After a pause, Bullard began: "Pay attention, Flitch—"
"Not that name, damn ye!"
"Idiot, then. I was going to say that I could have done with an hour or two in that house, but that a couple of minutes would be better than nothing—"
"Couple o' minutes? That's easy—if ye don't mind a little risk."
"I'm used to risks," said Bullard, shifting the Green Box to his other arm. "But it is vital that I go in and out without being seen."
"Can't guarantee anything in this blasted rotten world," said Flitch, "but I think I can do the trick for you."