"Are you in there, sir?" But still no response was given.
"I can't make this out, Mr Sainsbury," exclaimed the man, turning to
him with anxiety on his pale face. "The key's in the lock--on the
inside too! He must be inside, and he's locked himself in. Why, I
wonder?"
Jack Sainsbury bent and put his eye to the keyhole. The room within was
lit, for he could see the well-filled bookcase straight before him, and
an empty chair was plainly visible.
Instantly he listened, for he thought in the silence--at that moment
there being an absence of traffic out in the street--that he heard a
slight sound, as though of a low, metallic click.
Again he listened, holding his breath. He was not mistaken. A slight
but quite distinct sharp click could be heard, as though a piece of
metal had struck the window-pane. Once--twice--it was repeated,
afterwards a long-drawn sigh.
Then he heard no more.
"Open the door, Jerrold!" he cried impatiently. "Don't play the fool.
What's the matter, old chap?"
"Funny--very funny--isn't it!" Thomasson exclaimed, his brows knit in
mystification.
"Most curious," declared Sainsbury, now thoroughly anxious. "How long
was Mr Trustram here?"
"He dined out with the doctor--at Prince's, I think--and they came back
together about half-past nine. While Mr Trustram was here he was on
the telephone twice or three times. Once he was rung up by Mr Lewin
Rodwell."
"Mr Lewin Rodwell!" echoed Sainsbury. "Did you happen to hear anything
of their conversation?"
"Well, not much, sir," was the servant's discreet reply. "I answered
the 'phone at first, and it was Mr Rodwell speaking. He told me who he
was, and then asked if Mr Trustram was with the doctor. I said he was,
and at once went and called him."
"Did Mr Trustram appear to be on friendly terms with Mr Rodwell?"
asked the young man eagerly.
"Oh! quite. I heard Mr Trustram laughing over the 'phone, and saying
`All right--yes, I quite understand. It's awfully good of you to make
the suggestion. I think it excellent. I'll propose it to-morrow--yes,
at the club to-morrow at four.'"
Suggestion? What suggestion had Lewin Rodwell made to that official of
the Transport Department--Lewin Rodwell, of all men!
Jack Sainsbury stood before that locked door, for the moment unable to
think. He was utterly dumbfounded.
Those words he had heard in the boardroom in the City that afternoon had
burned themselves deeply into his brain. Lewin Rodwell was, it seemed,
a personal friend of Charles Trustram, the well-known and trusted
official to whose push-and-go the nation had been so deeply indebted--
the man who had transported so many hundreds of thousands of our
Expeditionary Force across the Channel, with all their guns, ammunition
and equipment, without a single mishap. It was both curious and
startling. What could it all mean?
Thomasson again hammered upon the stout old-fashioned door of polished
mahogany.
"Speak, sir! Do speak!" he implored. "Are you all right?"
Still there was no reply.
"He may have fainted!" Jack suggested. "Something may have happened to
him!"
"I hope not, sir," replied the man very anxiously. "I'll just run
outside and see whether the window is open. If so, we might get a
ladder."
The man dashed downstairs and out into the street, but a moment later he
returned breathlessly, saying--
"No. Both windows are closed, just as I closed them at dusk. And the
curtains are drawn; not a chink of light is showing through. All we can
do, I fear, is to force the door."
"You are quite sure he's in the room?"
"Positive, sir."
"Did you see him after Mr Trustram left?"
"No, I didn't. I let Mr Trustram out, and as he wished me good-night
he hailed a passing taxi, and then I went down and read the evening
paper. I always have it after the doctor's finished with it."
"Well, Thomasson, what is to be done?" asked Sainsbury, essentially a
young man of action. "We must get into this room--and at once. I don't
like the present aspect of things a bit."
"Neither do I, sir. Below I've got the jemmy we use for opening
packing-cases. We may be able to force the door with that."
And once again the tall, thin, wiry man disappeared below. Jack
Sainsbury did not see how the man, when he had disappeared into the
basement, stood in the kitchen his face blanched to the lips and his
thin hands trembling.
It was only at the moment when Thomasson was alone that his marvellous
self-possession forsook him. On the floor above he remained cool,
collected, anxious, and perfectly unruffled. Below, and alone, the cook
and housemaid not having returned, they being out for a late evening at
the theatre, a craven fear possessed him.
It would have been quite evident to the casual observer that the man,
Thomasson, possessed some secret fear of what had occurred in the brief
interval between Mr Trustram's departure and Sainsbury's arrival. Tall
and pale-faced, he stood in the big basement kitchen, with its rows of
shining plated covers and plate-racks, motionless and statuesque: his
head upon his breast, his teeth set, his cheeks as white as paper.
But only for a moment. A second later he drew a deep breath, nerved
himself with a superhuman effort, and then, opening a cupboard, took out
a steel tool with an axe-head at one end and a curved and pronged point
at the other--very much like a burglar's jemmy. Such a tool was
constructed for strong leverage, and, quite cool as before, he carried
it up the two flights of stairs to where Jack stood before the locked
door, eager and impatient.
Sainsbury, being the younger of the pair, took it, and inserting the
flat chisel-like end into the slight crevice between the stout polished
door and the lintel, worked it in with leverage, endeavouring to break
the lock from its fastening.
This proved unsuccessful, for, after two or three attempts, the woodwork
of the lintel suddenly splintered and gave way, leaving the door locked
securely as before.
Time after time he tried, but with no other result than breaking away
the lintel of the door.
What mystery might not be contained in that locked room?
His hands trembled with excitement and nervousness. Once he had thought
of summoning the police by telephone, but such an action might, he
thought, for certain reasons which he knew, annoy his friend the doctor,
therefore he hesitated.
Probably Jerrold had fainted, and as soon as they could get at him he
would recover and be quite right again. He knew how strenuously he had
worked of late at Guy's, in those wards filled with wounded soldiers.
Only two days before, Jerrold had told him, in confidence, that he very
much feared a nervous breakdown, and felt that he must get away and have
a brief rest.
Because of that, Sainsbury believed that his friend had fainted after
his hard day at the hospital, and that as soon as they could reach him
all would be well.
But why had he locked the door of his den? For what reason had he
desired privacy as soon as Trustram had left him?
Again and again both of them used the steel lever upon the door, until
at last, taking it from Thomasson's hands, Jack placed the bright curved
prong half-way between the lock and the ground and, with a well-directed
blow, he threw his whole weight upon it.
There was a sharp snap, a crackling of wood, the door suddenly flew back
into the room, and the young man, carried by the impetus of his body,
fell headlong forward upon the dark red carpet within.