“You can accompany me to the door if you like and see me go in; but I should not drive up if I were you, as you will only arouse interest, and possibly someone may see and recognise you. That would be awkward both for you and for me.”
Mackintosh gave a grin of agreement, and alighting, the three men walked towards the hotel.
As they approached the crowd, Mackintosh and his companion drew away from Westerham.
“It will do if we see you go in,” said the bullet-headed man, “we will wait here.” And he moved into a little opening on the side of the street opposite the hotel.
Westerham struck across the Strand and pushed his way through the press. The hotel door was closed and guarded on either side by a constable. Through the glass doorway Westerham could see the face of the hall porter peering out, pale and anxious and questioning.
He rapped on the door, and the porter opened it, the policemen making no demur, seeing that the porter obviously recognised the new arrival.
At the further end of the hall were gathered a number of the visitors, talking excitedly, but in low voices.
Two immensely large and solid men were seated on a bench. They rose up as Westerham entered, and he immediately recognised one of them as the inquisitive Mr. Rookley from Scotland Yard.
Rookley, with a stern, set face, walked forward to meet Westerham, and touched him with a forefinger on his chest.
“I have been waiting for you,” he said.