Billy steered neatly round the corner of Park Lane. "It doesn't matter," he observed. "There's a big garage in Piccadilly. I'll shove her in there for the night after I've dropped you."
We slowed down and came to a stop outside the house. Through the glass above the door I saw that the hall was lit up.
"Someone's about, after all," I said.
"I expect they've got the policeman to supper," chuckled Billy. "Pleasant little surprise for 'em—eh? You go and knock, and I'll wait and see it's all right."
I walked up the steps, and thrust my key into the door. As I did so, it suddenly swung open, and I found myself face to face with a man who was standing just inside the threshold. Over his shoulder, I caught a momentary glimpse of the white, startled face of my pretty housemaid.
For a second I stared at the man without speaking. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and middle-aged, with a short, grizzled moustache and keen, watchful eyes.
"If you won't think me inquisitive," I remarked politely, "may I ask who you are?"
"I am Inspector Neil of Scotland Yard," he said slowly. "I believe that I am addressing Mr. John Burton."
It was a nasty shock, but I met it serenely.
"Well?" I returned.