“Because sometimes when I go past the door at night, I hear the whirr of the little motor in the flat.”
“Oh! There’s an electric motor there—is there?”
“Yes, in the scullery—it’s run off the electric light current.”
“Do you ever hear any metallic clicks or sharp fizzles and noises?” Falconer asked.
“No. Nothing—only the motor. A little half-horse affair run off the house current. When I was in the army I had a lot to do with small dynamos.”
“Ah! I can’t tell. He keeps his sitting-room always closed. He’s put a Yale lock on it. And my missus is always wondering why.”
Geoffrey Falconer scented mystery.
“What does he want a motor in his flat for?”
“That I can’t tell you. He’s a generous man. I’ll give him credit for that. But somehow I don’t like his mysterious electric plant.”