And then another and a
fainter light flickered in the hall, and after a few seconds the
front-door opened. Hugo literally jumped into the house, and, safely
within, he banged the door.
'Now,' he said.
A middle-aged woman, holding a candle, stood by Simon and Albert in the
hall.
'Are you the servant?' Hugo demanded.
'No, sir; I'm the landlady. And I'd like to know--'
'Your husband told me you were away and wouldn't return till to-morrow.'
'Seeing as how my husband's been dead these thirteen years--'
'We're in, sir. We'd better search the house to start with,' said
Albert. 'There's three of us. The man that opened the door to you must
have been a wrong un, one of _his_.'
'Never have I had the police in my house before,' wailed the landlady of
No. 23, Horseferry Road, while the candle dropped tallow tears on the
oilcloth. 'And all I can say is I thank the blessed Lord it's dark, and
you aren't in uniform. Doctor Woolrich's rooms are on the first floor,
and you can go up and see for yourself, if you like. And how should I
know he wasn't a real doctor?'
As the landlady spoke, sounds of footsteps made themselves heard
overhead, and a door closed.
'Give me that candle, my good woman,' said Hugo, hastily snatching it
from her.
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