“Stuff!” said David, turning on his heel.
Few Britons can stand contempt. The porter followed him.
“That’s a man,” said David, and they entered the flat. Harcourt shut and bolted the door.
“Now,” he said, “you mount guard in the passage, while I carry on the hunt.”
He would have disturbed a mouse were it in hiding, so complete was his second scrutiny of every nook. At the end of a fruitless quest he gave the porter a whisky and soda.
“I’ll tell you wot, sir,” said the man, “there’s more in this than meets the heye. Miss L’Estrange, she never saw anythink, but she ’eard all sorts o’ rummy noises, an’ twiced she found that all ’er things ’ad bin rummidged. An’ it was no thief, neither. The maid, she acshully sawr the pore lydy. If I may s’y it in confidence, sir, and you wants ter be comfortable, there’s No. 18 in the next block—”
“I have rented the place for six months, and I shall stay in it,” said David. “Have another? No? Well, here is half a crown. Say nothing about to-night’s adventure. I am going to bed.”
“Lordy! Goin’ ter sleep ’ere alone?” gasped his companion. “I wouldn’t do it for a pension.”
“Yet I am paying for the privilege. However, not a word, remember.”