[CHAPTER XIX]
It was close on eleven when the cab drew up before the door of Sidney’s lodging in York Street, St. James’s, and as luck would have it Sidney himself was standing on the doorstep, in the act of inserting his latch-key in the lock. Gimblet saw himself recognised as he sprang out of the taxi, and saw also a look of unmistakable pleasure in the recognition.
“This man is as innocent as I am,” he thought, as the young soldier greeted him.
“Come in, do,” Sidney said, “you’re the very man I wanted to see. I went to your flat this evening, but you’d just gone out, so the porter said. I am anxious to hear if you have any news of my aunt and Miss Turner.”
He led the way upstairs as he spoke, and ushered the detective into a sitting-room on the first floor, switching on the light as he did so.
Gimblet waited till the door was shut behind them, and then turned a grave face to his host.
“The news is very bad,” he said slowly, and waited a moment to give time for the significance of the words to sink in, and to prepare Sidney for what was to come.
“What has happened?” cried Sidney. “Are they hurt? Is Miss Turner——”