“Mr. Trent, sir, whatever is the matter? Is anybody hurt? I never heard such screams. The whole place is ringing with them and there’s a crowd gathering about the door.”
Cleek left the junior partner to explain the situation, stepped to the side of the glass-room, looked down, saw that the statement was quite true, and—stepped sharply back again.
“We shall have to defer removing our prisoner until it gets dark, I fancy, Mr. Narkom,” he said, serenely. “And with Mr. Trent’s permission we will make use of the door leading into the alley at the back when that time comes. Bookkeeper!”
“Yes, sir?”
“You might explain to the constable on duty in the neighbourhood—if he comes to inquire, that is—the cause of the disturbance, and that Scotland Yard is in charge and Superintendent Narkom already on the premises. That’s all, thank you. You may close the door and take your colleagues below. Hullo! our prisoner seems to be subsiding into something akin to gibbering idiocy, Mr. Trent. Fright has turned his brain, apparently. Let us make use of the respite from his shrieks. You will, of course, wish to hear how I got on the track of the man, and what were the clues which led up to the solving of the affair. Well, you shall. Sit down, and while we are waiting for the darkness to come I’ll give you the complete explanation.”
CHAPTER XXXVIII
Colliver, who had now sunk into a state of babbling incoherence, lay on his face in the wreck of the tableau, rolling his head from side to side and clasping and unclasping his manacled hands.
Trent turned his back upon the unpleasant sight and, placing three chairs at the opposite end of the room, dropped into one and lifted an eager countenance to Cleek.
“Tell me first of all,” he asked, “how under heaven you came to suspect how the disappearance of the boy was managed? It seems like magic, to me. When in the world did you get the first clue to it, Mr. Cleek?”