SEVERED HAND
The taxi pulled up at 24 Brummell Street, discharged its fares and skidded off into the rain.
“Quiet enough,” said Nigel. “You’ve got a jitterbug, Inspector.”
“There’s a light on in the hall,” said Alleyn. “What about the entrance here, Fox? Wasn’t there a man outside?”
“The P.C. on this beat,“ said Fox. ”He was told to stay outside and another chap was put on the beat.”
“Well, where is the P.C.?”
“Taking shelter, most likely,” said Fox. “He’ll hear about this.” Alleyn rang the bell at 24. Immediately they heard inside the click of a lock.
“Hullo,” said Alleyn. “That’s sudden.”
The door opened. Moffatt, very pale, with a rug clutched about him, stared at them.
“Are you from Scotland Yard, sir?”