“What things?” said Collins.
“Oh, come along, don’t start asking questions now,” said Sinclair. The two men entered the hall.
The housekeeper disappeared down the stairs, but the others did not notice her departure at the moment.
They made for the library door where the housekeeper had knocked. Sinclair tried the handle. The door was locked. He knocked loudly, but there was no response.
“We shall have to break the door down,” said he.
“Oh, that’s very clumsy,” said Collins, “and makes such a noise.” Stooping down he examined the lock.
“That’s an easy matter, the key is in the lock.”
He produced a fine pair of pliers, and deftly gripping the end of the key, turned it without difficulty.
“You would make a good burglar,” laughed the superintendent. Collins opened the door and glanced round.
The room was in semi-darkness, and after the glare outside it was hard to see anything for a moment. By the empty grate was a large arm-chair, and seated in this was the familiar figure of the Home Secretary, Sir James Watson. He was huddled up in his chair, and his head was at a curious angle to his body.