We turned the comer, pulled up outside a small villa.
“This is Herrick’s place,” Davis said. “Want me to come in?”
I shook my head. “You and me had better not be seen together,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said, reaching over the back of his seat. He found the bottle and patted it lovingly. “I can keep myself amused.”
I left him and walked up the path to the house. No lights showed. I thumbed the bell, waited. Somewhere in the house the bell rang, but no one answered. I rang again, thinking the man, Giles, was asleep. But after five minutes of continuous ringing, I decided no one was home.
Davis stuck his head out of the car window. “Bust down the door,” he said. He sounded a little tight.
I went round to peer in a window. There was enough moonlight to see something of the room. I found myself staring at a large desk. The drawers were open, papers were scattered on the floor. I looked closer and saw an arm-chair had been ripped to pieces.
“Hey,” I called to Davis. “Come here.”
Muttering under his breath, he heaved his bulk out of the car and joined me.
He peered through the window, saw what I had seen, stepped back.