“Well?” said Triffitt. “Any luck?”
Davidge drew the curtains over the balcony window before he turned and answered this question.
“Mr. Triffitt,” he said, when at last he faced round, “you’ll have to put us up for the night. After what I’ve found, I’m not going to lose sight, or get out of touch with this man. Now listen, and I’ll tell you, at any rate, something. Tomorrow morning at ten o’clock there’s to be a sort of informal inquiry at Mr. Halfpenny’s office into the matter of a will of the date of Jacob Herapath’s—all the parties concerned are going to meet there, and I know that this man Burchill is to be present. I don’t propose to lose sight of him after he returns here tonight until he goes to that office—what happens after he’s once there, you shall see. So Milsey and I’ll just have to trouble you to let me stop here for the night. You can go to your bed, of course—we’ll sit up. I’ll send Milsey out to buy a bit of supper for us—I dare say he’ll find something open close by.”
“No need,” Triffitt hastened to say. “I’ve a cold meat pie, uncut, and plenty of bread, and cheese. And there’s bottled ale, and whisky, and I’ll get you some supper ready at once. So”—he went on, as he began to bustle about—“you did find—something?”
Davidge rubbed his hands and winked first at Milsey and then at Triffitt.
“Wait till tomorrow!” he said. “There’ll be strange news for you newspaper gentlemen before tomorrow night.”