Gilder pressed the electric button on his desk. At the same moment, through the octagonal window came a blinding flash of light that rested for seconds, then vanished. Burke, by no means a nervous man, nevertheless was startled by the mysterious radiance.
“What's that?” he demanded, sharply.
“It's the flashlight from the Metropolitan Tower,” Gilder explained with a smile over the policeman's perturbation. “It swings around this way about every fifteen minutes. The servant forgot to draw the curtains.” As he spoke, he went to the window, and pulled the heavy draperies close. “It won't bother us again.”
The entrance of the butler brought the Inspector's thoughts back to the matter in hand.
“My man,” he said, authoritatively, “I want you to go up to the roof and open the scuttle. You'll find some men waiting up there. Bring 'em down here.”
The servant's usually impassive face showed astonishment, not unmixed with dismay, and he looked doubtfully toward his master, who nodded reassuringly.
“Oh, they won't hurt you,” the Inspector declared, as he noticed the man's hesitation. “They're police officers. You get 'em down here, and then you go to bed and stay there till morning. Understand?”
Again, the butler looked at his master for guidance in this very peculiar affair, as he deemed it. Receiving another nod, he said:
“Very well, sir.” He regarded the Inspector with a certain helpless indignation over this disturbance of the natural order, and left the room.
Gilder himself was puzzled over the situation, which was by no means clear to him.