Someone was breaking in at the door of my chambers!
I aroused myself from a state of coma almost death-like and listened to the blows. The sun was streaming in at my windows.
A splintering crash told of a panel broken. Then a moment later I heard the grating of the lock, and a rush of footsteps along the passage.
"Try the study!" came a voice that sounded like Bristol's, save that it was strangely weak and shaky.
Almost simultaneously the Inspector himself threw open the bedroom door — and, very pale and haggard-eyed, stood there looking across at me. It was a scene unforgettable.
"Mr. Cavanagh!" he said huskily—"Mr. Cavanagh! Thank God you're alive! But" — he turned—"this way, Marden!" he cried, "Untie him quickly! I've got no strength in my arms!"
Marden, a C.I.D. man, came running, and in a minute, or less, I was sitting up gulping brandy.
"I've had the most awful experience of my life," said Bristol. "You've fared badly enough, but I've been hanging by my wrists — you know Dexter's trick! — for close upon sixteen hours! I wasn't released until Carter, an office boy, came on the scene this morning!"
Very feebly I nodded; I could not talk.
"The strong-room of your bank was rifled under my very eyes last evening!" he continued, with something of his old vigour; "and five minutes after the Antiquarian Museum was opened to the public this morning quite an unusual number of visitors appeared.