Triffitt handed round the glasses and took a share himself.
“Ah!” he said. “That’s interesting! And where are you going, now—if one may ask?”
Davidge nodded his desires for his host’s good health, and then gave him a wink.
“We propose to go in there,” he said with a jerk of his thumb towards Burchill’s flat. “It’s what I’ve been wanting to do for three or four days, but I didn’t see my way clear without resorting to a lot of things—search-warrant, and what not—and it would have meant collusion with the landlord here, and the clerk downstairs, and I don’t know what all, so I put it off a bit. But when you told me that you’d got this flat, why, then, I saw my way! Of course, I’ve been familiar with the lie of these flats for a week—I saw the plans of ’em downstairs as soon as I started on to this job.”
“You’ve been on this job from the beginning, then—in connection with him?” exclaimed Triffitt, nodding towards the door.
“We’ve never had him out of our sight since I started,” replied Davidge, coolly, “except when he’s been within his own four walls—where we’re presently going. Oh, yes—we’ve watched him.”
“He’s out now,” remarked Triffitt.
“We know that,” said Davidge. “We know where he’s gone. There’s a first night, a new play, at the Terpsichoreum—he’s gone there. He’s safe enough till midnight, so we’ve plenty of time. We just want to have a look around his little nest while he’s off it, d’you see?”
“How are you going to get in?” asked Triffitt.
Davidge nodded towards the window of the sitting-room.