Chapter XVIII

Margaret Maddison was preparing for bed when the street bell rang. She opened the door of her room and listened: somebody was talking in the hall below; she heard her footman’s voice and a deeper one, and then somebody said:

“You’d better go up and tell the lady. I must see her… Scotland Yard.”

She sent her maid down to find out what was the matter, and in a few minutes the girl came back.

“It’s an inspector from Scotland Yard, madam. He wants to see you on a matter of importance.”

“Is it Mr. Bird?” she asked anxiously.

Why she should be anxious at all she could not for the moment understand. Later she realized that it was the knowledge that Scotland Yard was a carrier of unpleasant news, and that possibly something might have happened to Luke, which sent her down to the drawing room so quickly.

It was not Bird but a stranger, who introduced himself as Divisional Inspector Gorton.

“I’m sorry to bother you at this time of night, Mrs. Maddison,” he said, “but we’ve got a report sent to us by the servant of Mr. Hulbert, the solicitor--I believe he is your husband’s solicitor?”

She nodded, and drew a quick breath.

“Is anything wrong--I mean, with Mr. Maddison?”

“No, ma’am, it’s not serious--in fact it may be nothing at all. But this valet of Mr. Hulbert’s says that he had an inquiry from a strange man to-night as to whether your husband’s flat was occupied--he also said that you had the key of the flat.”

Margaret nodded. The key had been in her possession since a few days after Luke’s departure. His man had brought it; it was at that moment in her desk.

“I understand Mr. Maddison’s abroad?”

“Yes, he is in Ronda,” she said quickly. “You can have the key.”

Inspector Gorton hesitated.

“I’d rather like you to come along with us, madam,” he said. “I promise you there’s not the slightest danger, but we do not like searching houses until there is a representative of the owner present.”

“What do you expect to find? I’ll come with pleasure,” she said.

“You can wait outside in your car, madam. What do we expect to find? Well, there is a possibility that the man who called up intended burgling the flat, and we want to be on the safe side.”

She went upstairs and finished dressing, putting on a raincoat, and accompanied the policeman into the street. A car was drawn up, with two or three men sitting in the back, and she was invited to take her place by the side of the driver.

They came very quickly to the entrance of Luke’s flat.

“No, no, I’ll come up with you,” she said. “I’ve only been in it twice, but I’ll probably be able to help you find your way about.”

It was not a pleasant experience, walking into that familiar hall, looking at the dusty furnishings. The place was peculiarly Luke’s, had something of his aura, and it gave her a little pang to realize that Luke might never come here again.

“There’s a fire escape here, isn’t there? Where does it touch?”

“The kitchen,” she said.

The inspector sent one of his men to search that apartment; and then suddenly he sniffed.

“Somebody’s been smoking a cigar here, and smoking it recently,” he said.

Margaret too had smelt the faint fragrance. At that moment the detective sent to look at the kitchen came running back.

“The window’s been forced!” he said.

Again Gorton nodded. Evidently he expected to hear this.

“Which is Mr. Maddison’s room?”

She pointed. A key was already inserted in the lock. The detective turned the handle. The door did not move: it was bolted on the inside.

“Out you come, son!” he said in a loud voice as he rapped on the panel. “It’s a cop!”

He turned to the girl.

“You’d better go downstairs, Mrs. Maddison--we’re going to break in this door!”

Luke Maddison, standing on the other side of the door, listening, heard the words and gasped. His wife was there--the one person in the world who must not see him!