"Where in the name of wonder did you get the key?" demanded Harborne.
"House agent!" snapped the other. "I work on the lines that I'm after a clever man, not trying to round up a herd of bullocks!"
Revolvers in readiness, they searched the house. No living thing was to be found. Only one room was unfurnished. It opened off the hall, and was on a lower level. The floor was paved and the walls plastered. An unglazed window opened on a garden, and a deep recess opposite to the door held only shadows and emptiness.
"It's a darned pie-trap!" muttered Mr. Aloys. X. Alden. "And you and me are the pies properly!"
"But d'you mean to say he's going to leave all this furniture——!"
"Hired!" snapped the American. "Hired! I knew that before I came!"
Detective-Sergeant Harborne raised a hand to his throbbing head—and sank dizzily into a cushioned hall-seat.