Andrews demurred. “We can’t get in without committing a burglary,” he said.
“Oh nonsense,” said Fletcher, “there’s no one about, here goes,” and with a quick movement he swung himself up to the roof, and crawled along the top; in a few moments he was back again, dusting his knees.
“You are right, Andrews,” he said “there is something funny here, there’s a glass window lighting a central room, but it is whitened all over, to make it impossible to see inside. I wonder if our friend is merely an amateur photographer, and we are making fools of ourselves, or whether it has some other meaning.”
“I thought as you are down here, you would like to know, and I suggest that we two watch to-night, and see what happens, there’s nothing like doing a thing one’s self, and it’s just possible this may lead you to the solution of your problem as well.”
Fletcher was all attention. “There may be something in what you say, it’s worth trying anyhow. I’ll meet you at ten o’clock. I have had to leave the Black Horse, and am trying to get a room at what they call the Club, it’s nearer to the scene of action.”
“Very good,” said Andrews. “At ten o’clock.”
Fletcher made his way in a thoughtful mood to the Seftons’ bungalow. He wanted to see Sefton, and it must be admitted he also felt strangely drawn to the girl of the train.
Ena let him in herself, and a tall man rose to his feet, and was introduced to him.
“Mr. Halley,” said the girl. “This is Mr. Fletcher about whom I told you.”
The two men shook hands with a curious feeling of antagonism, for which Fletcher was unable to account.