The man with the bull’s-eye made the circle of light dance to the bottom stair and discovered the Duchess. Another went to the closed door of the back room and put his shoulder against it.
“Now then, ma’am,” said Mr. Thorpe, turning from the boy impatiently. “Where’s your good gentleman?”
“Pray don’t ask me, fellow,” replied the Duchess, endeavouring to assume her accent of refinement with some want of success. “If you want him, I really think the best thing you can do is to find him.”
“Go upstairs, two of you,” commanded Mr. Thorpe. “Two others give Baker a help with that door. Someone look after this woman and the kid.”
Bobbie, his shoulder gripped by a broad hand, watched with interest. The door groaned complainingly for a moment or two; then it gave way with so much suddenness that the two men stumbled into the room. Between the figures of the men Bobbie could see the room crowded in the manner of a workshop of limited accommodation. A wooden bench stood against the shuttered windows; the flare of a fire out of sight reddened the untidy floor. On a table some circular moulds of plaster of Paris; near, some coins with a tail of metal attached that gave them an unconvincing appearance. Three pewter pots, half melted on the edge of an iron sink. A small battery in the corner, and at this seated the figure of a young man. The figure looked round casually as’ the men entered, and Bobbie caught sight of a face not pleasant to look upon.
“Is that the Fright?” whispered Bobbie to the Duchess. The Duchess nodded and touched her forehead.
“Tile loose!” she said.
The figure turned back to his work of plating, crooning his hymn as though the interruption was not worthy of any special notice. Then the door partially closed.
“Mind my shoulder, please,” said the Duchess affectedly.
“I am minding it,” said the detective cheerfully.