"Exactly. You dropped down into a cellar or somewhere in the basement,
and then, while you were insensible, they put you into the sewer--
through some manhole, perhaps, of which they have a duplicate key. The
house must be near a manhole. That's my belief."
"Then you don't think that I fell plumb into the sewer?"
"Certainly not. You were thrown into the sewer while insensible down a
manhole, without a doubt. It's lucky you just escaped the flush. The
villain evidently knew that the flush is at eight o'clock in the
morning, and that we don't go down till afterwards. And when we go,
well, the victim has, of course, disappeared. By Jove! sir," added the
big muscular man, standing astride in his big, high boots, "you've had a
narrow shave, and no mistake."
I admitted I had. I was forced to repeat my explanation to a
brown-bearded, good-humoured inspector who came up, and who afterwards
gave me his name as Pickering. The officer was most interested,
therefore promising to call at the Tottenham Court Road police station
later I gave him a card and took a hansom back to Bolton Street.