"More coffee?" suggested Mark.
Colin pushed over his cup, and, having taken possession of the last
slice of toast, proceeded to scrape out the remainder of the
marmalade.
"I seem to be eating rather a lot," he observed apologetically. "I
suppose it's the result of being in love."
Mark laughed and glanced at the clock. "It seems to have affected
Nancy in the same way. Anyhow, this is the first time I've ever
known her late."
"You mustn't be brutal to her," said Colin; "it's all my fault. I
took her out to supper after the theatre last night, and we didn't
get back to her place until nearly one o'clock. I expect she was a
bit sleepy this morning."
"Well, I'll try and overlook it for once," replied Mark generously.
He produced his pipe, and, after stuffing the bowl with tobacco,
tossed the pouch across the table. "What are your plans for this
morning?" he inquired.
"I've got to find Joe," was the answer. "Marsden wants him at the
Yard at two o'clock, so I must go along to the Palace and see if I
can get hold of his address."
"You had better tell him to come here at half-past twelve," said
Mark. "He can have some lunch with us, and then you can all go up
together in the car."
"That's a bright idea," agreed Colin. "I'm afraid that, in one way
and another, I'm becoming a bit of a nuisance, though."
"Not the slightest," returned Mark. "I'm enjoying myself immensely.
It's so dull down here as a rule that any little thing like a love
affair or an attempted murder is a perfect godsend."
He sauntered off to the surgery, and a few minutes later Colin,
having scribbled a brief note to Nancy and left it on the hall table,
was striding along the street in the direction of the Whitechapel
Road.
No one could describe the thoroughfares through which he had to pass
as picturesque or engaging, but in the crisp morning air, and with a
yellow sun shining down from overhead, the two-mile walk was not
without a certain attraction.
He was in the kind of mood, indeed, in which even the Dead Sea or the
Sahara Desert would probably have appeared to possess some favourable
features. Ever since he had discovered his real feelings toward
Nancy the whole world seemed to have become an extraordinarily
interesting and exciting place. At the present moment, both these
sensations were intensified by the prospect of his approaching
interview with Marsden. From the way in which the detective had
spoken there could be little doubt that he had made some important
discoveries, and the mere thought that in a few hours he might be
helping to track down the Professor's murderer was sufficient in
itself to set every nerve in Colin's body tingling with a fierce
elation.
Half-an-hour's walk brought him to the Palace, a gaudy structure
wedged in between two public houses. The only person about who
appeared to have any connection with the establishment was an elderly
man with a bucket of paste, who was leisurely engaged in affixing a
poster to one of the two boards which decorated each side of the
entrance.
Colin pulled up alongside of him.
"Do you happen to know where Joe Bates lives?" he asked.
The other paused in his work, and eyed him with some suspicion.
"Yus," he replied, "an' wot abaht it?"
"Nothing much," returned Colin. "I happen to be a pal of his, and I
want to see him. My name's Doctor Gray."
The elderly man's expression changed instantly. "Ow," he remarked,
"that's orl right. I've 'eard 'im speak o' you. You're the bloke as
mended 'im up when 'e was in 'orspital? Thinks the world o' you, Joe
does, an' no error."
"Well, in that case," said Colin, "perhaps you will trust me with his
address?"
"Why, o' course," was the answer. "No offence, mister, but I didn't
know who you was when you come askin' fust. Might 'a' been one o'
these 'ere blarsted rate collectors." He laid down his brush, and,
stepping out on the pavement, pointed across toward a narrow turning
on the opposite side of the road. "You foller that," he said, "an'
when you come to the last 'ouse on the right jest give a couple o'
taps on the front winder."
Colin thanked him, and, crossing the street, made his way down the
alley in question, until he arrived at the farther end. Joe's
residence proved to be a single-fronted dwelling of grimy brick, the
ground floor window of which opened on to the street. A square of
not over-clean muslin had been nailed up inside, in order to secure
the owner's privacy, but at Colin's second knock this obstruction was
cautiously lifted, and Joe's face peered out inquiringly through the
dirty glass.
On recognizing the visitor, it disappeared again at once, and the
next moment a burly figure in trousers and shirt sleeves swung open
the front door.
"Couldn't believe me own eyes, doctor," announced the prize-fighter
with a grin of welcome. "'Ow the blazes did you manage to find your
way 'ere?"
"I got your address from an elderly gentleman who was shoving up
bills outside the Palace," said Colin. "He wouldn't part with it
until I told him who I was."
"Ah, that'd be old Tom," returned Joe, nodding his head. "'E ain't
the sort to let 'is mouth flap, not unless 'e's sure of 'is comp'ny."
He stepped back into the passage, holding open the door. "Come along
in, doctor. I ain't got much of a place, but, such as it is, you're
more than welcome."
Colin followed his host into a tiny apartment on the left, on the
walls of which were nailed up a number of coloured prints,
representing various well-known boxers in highly aggressive
attitudes. In the centre of the room stood a deal table, containing
a couple of bottles of Bass and the smaller half of a brown loaf. A
bed, a dilapidated chair, and an old packing-case, full of odds and
ends, completed the remainder of the furniture.
"I was jest goin' to 'ave me breakfast," explained Joe, indicating
the refreshments. "If you'd fancy a drop, guv'nor, I can borrow a
glass from the bloke upstairs."
"Not for me, thanks," said Colin. "I always go to sleep if I drink
beer in the morning, and besides, I have only looked in to tell you
that you'll be wanted this afternoon."
Joe's eyes glistened. "Goin' to shove it across 'em?" he inquired
eagerly.
"I wish we were," was Colin's reply, "but I'm afraid it's nothing as
exciting as that. The fact is, I had a talk with Inspector Marsden
yesterday, and he wants you and me and Miss Seymour to meet him at
Scotland Yard at two o'clock."
For a moment Joe seemed somewhat taken aback.
"If them's the orders," he said at last, "there ain't no more to be
said abaht it. I never thought to see meself walkin' in there,
though, not of me own accord."
"They'll be civil enough," said Colin. "They only want to hear your
story about getting me out of the cellar."
"I daresay you're right," admitted Joe doubtfully. "I ain't got
nothin' special against the perlice; all I says is that the less you
'as to do with 'em the better." He paused. "Wot's the programme,
guv'nor? Do I jest step up to the front door an' 'and in me card?"
"Doctor Ashton suggested that you should come round to the surgery.
Then you can have some grub and drive up with us."
Joe shook his head. "Thankin' yer kindly, but if it's all the same I
reckon I'll meet yer there. I gotter couple o' torfs comin' to the
Palace for a lesson this mornin', an' it means a quid to me if I let
'em knock me abaht a bit."
"That's all right," said Colin, "as long as I can depend on you to
keep the appointment."
"I'll be there, doctor," replied Joe. "I'll be there, honest to
Gawd. You bring the young laidy along in the car, and yer'll find me
sittin' on the Embankment waitin' for yer."
Satisfied with this assurance, Colin took his departure, and,
retracing his steps to the end of the street, made his way back to
Shadwell by the same route that he had come.
As he opened the door of the house he saw to his surprise that the
note which he had left for Nancy was still lying on the hall table.
Before he had time to realize anything further Mark suddenly appeared
from the surgery.
"Hullo!" exclaimed Colin. "I made sure you'd be out on your round."
"So I ought to be," replied Mark, "but, as a matter of fact, I was
waiting for you."
"What's the matter?"
"I'm rather worried about Nancy. She's never turned up, and there's
been no message from her."
Colin's whole figure stiffened abruptly.
"No message?" he repeated.
"Nothing. I can't understand it at all. If she's ill, surely she'd
have let us know."
Without a word Colin swung round sharply, and, striding toward the
pegs, unhooked his coat.
"What are you going to do?" demanded Mark.
"I'll get out the car and drive up there at once," he said. "Can you
stop in for another twenty minutes? I'll telephone you directly I
find out what's the matter."
Mark nodded. "Keep steady, old son. I expect it will be all right.
There's probably some quite simple explanation."
Colin moistened his lips. "We were mad ever to let her leave the
house," he said hoarsely. "If any harm's come to her I'll kill
Fenton with my own hands."
As he spoke the clock on the stairs chimed out eleven-thirty, and,
turning hastily to the door, he hurried out again into the street.
If there is any truth in the theory that each of us possesses a
guardian angel, the fact that a quarter of an hour later Colin drew
up safely at the corner of Jubilee Place must be regarded as an
amazing tribute to the efficiency of his own particular escort.
Leaving the car in the gutter, he jumped out on to the pavement, and
the next moment he was mounting the narrow staircase which led up to
the first landing.
There were two studios on this floor, the one which Nancy rented
being distinguished by a small brass knocker. Catching hold of the
knob, Colin rapped loudly, and then, bending down, lifted up the flap
of the letter box.
"Nancy," he called out, "are you there? It is I--Colin." There was
no answer.
He straightened himself slowly, and as he did so the door of the
second studio was pulled back and a girl appeared in the opening.
She was a fair-haired, cheerful-looking girl, wearing a brown overall
and smoking a cigarette.
"Excuse my butting in," she said, "but do you want to speak to Miss
Seymour?"