There was no invitation in his voice, but Robin affected to disregard the other’s coldness.
“Let the library door be shut,” said Robin, “but leave the glass door leading into the garden open. Then give Sergeant Harris another trial at his reading....”
The detective smiled rather condescendingly.
“With the library door shut, you’ll hear nothing,” he remarked.
“The library window is open,” Robin retorted, “or rather it is as good as open, as one of the two big panes is smashed....”
His voice vibrated with eagerness. The detective looked at him curiously.
“Oh, try if you like,” he said carelessly.
Without waiting for his assent, Robin had already plucked open the corridor door and was halfway down the passage as the other replied. He was back again almost at once and, motioning the detective to silence, took his place at his side by the open door. Then the sound of the policeman’s voice was heard from the corridor. It was muffled and indistinct so that the sense of his words could not be made out. But the voice was audible enough.
Robin turned to the detective.
“Bude could make out no words,” he said.