The blinds
were drawn. A plain, heavy deal table (bearing a blotting-pad, a
pewter ink-pot, several pens and a telephone), together with three
uncomfortable chairs, alone broke the expanse of highly polished
floor. Dunbar glanced at the table and then stood undecided in the
middle of the bare room, tapping his small, widely separated teeth
with a pencil which he had absently drawn from his waistcoat pocket.
He rang the bell.
A constable came in almost immediately and stood waiting just inside
the door.
"When did Sergeant Sowerby leave?" asked Dunbar.
"About three hours ago, sir."
"What!" cried Dunbar. "Three hours ago! But I have been here myself
within that time--in the Commissioner's office."
"Sergeant Sowerby left before then. I saw him go."
"But, my good fellow, he has been back again. He spoke to me on the
telephone less than a quarter of an hour ago."
"Not from here, sir."
"But I say it _was_ from here!" shouted Dunbar fiercely; "and I told
him to wait for me."
"Very good, sir. Shall I make inquiries?"
"Yes. Wait a minute. Is the Commissioner here?"
"Yes, sir, I believe so. At least I have not seen him go."
"Find Sergeant Sowerby and tell him to wait here for me," snapped
Dunbar.
He walked out into the bare corridor and along to the room of the
Assistant Commissioner. Knocking upon the door, he opened it
immediately, and entered an apartment which afforded a striking
contrast to his own.
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