He had kept his gaze fixed upon the darkened windows of the worthy Mr. Slattery's establishment during this brief conversation, and though he felt that he might be mistaken, it certainly seemed to him that he saw an eye appear at the open space at the edge of the curtain, and as suddenly disappear within.
He stepped to the door and tried the knob.
The door was locked, as he had supposed.
He raised his fist and struck blow after blow upon it, with an evident intention of making himself heard.
To attempt to conceal his identity he knew perfectly well would be a simple impossibility.
He had been observed by entirely too many persons for that.
Presently the door was noisily unlocked from within, and a head covered with a fiery red shock of tousled hair thrust outside.
"Well, an' what d'ye want?"
"To come in," replied the detective, sternly, throwing the weight of his body against the door. "I have a few questions for you, my man, and don't propose to ask them here on the street."
"An' who are yez, entering the house of an honest man on the Sabbath morn? This place is closed, I'd have ye know."