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.Meister had asked the girl to call at his house on her way home, but mentallyMary had laid down a formula which was subsequently to serve her well.Shehad fixed nine o clock as the utmost limit she could work in the house, and as itwas past that hour when she reached New Cross, she went straight to MalpasMansions.One little luxury had been introduced into the flat: Maurice hadinsisted that she should be connected with the telephone system, and this was agreat comfort to her.The bell was ringing as she unlocked the door, and, lighting the gas, hurriedto the little table where the instrument stood.As she expected, it was Meister. My dear girl, where have you been? he asked testily. I have been waitingfor you since eight o clock. She glanced at the watch on her wrist: it was a quarter to ten. I m sorry, Maurice, she said, but I didn t definitely promise I d call. Have you been to a theatre or something? he asked suspiciously. Youdidn t tell me anything about it? No, I ve been to see a friend. 71 A man? Mary Lenley possessed an almost inexhaustible fund of patience, but thepersistence of this cross-examination irritated her, and he must have guessedthis, for, before she could reply, he went on: Forgive my curiosity, my dear, but I am acting in loco parentis to you whilstpoor Johnny is away, and I d like to know I went to dinner with a friend, she interrupted shortly. I m sorry I have putyou to any inconveniece, but I did not exactly promise, did I? A pause. Can t you come round now? Her No was very decisive. It is much too late, Maurice.What is it you want doing? If he had answered right away she might have believed him, but the pausewas just a little too long. Affidavits! she scoffed. How absurd, at this time of night! I ll come downearlier in the morning. Your friend was not by any chance Alan Wembury? asked Meister s voice.Mary considered that a very opportune moment to hang up the receiver.She went into her little bedroom to change whilst the kettle was boiling, andthe draught from the open window slammed the door behind her.She lit thegas, and closed the window with a thoughtful frown.She had given her servanta holiday, and the girl had left before her.Because of a threatening rainstorm,Mary had gone round the flat closing every window.Who had opened it? Shelooked round the room and a chill crept down her spine.Somebody had been inthe room: one of the drawers in her chest had been forced open.As far as shecould see, nothing had been stolen.Then with a gasp she remembered the codeletter it was gone! The wardrobe had been opened also; her dresses had beenmoved, and the long drawer beneath had been searched.By whom? Not by anyordinary burglar, for nothing except the letter had been taken.She went back to the window and, pulling it open, looked down.There was asheer drop into the yard of fifty feet.To the right was the tiny balcony juttingout from her kitchenette, and by its side a balance lift by which the householdsin Malpas Mansions could obtain their supplies from the tradesmen in the yardbelow.The lift was at the bottom, and she could see the long steel ropesswaying gently in the stiff breeze that was blowing.A nimble man could climbto the level of the balcony without any superhuman effort.But what man,nimble or otherwise, would risk his neck for the sake of turning over her fewpoor possessions and extracting Cora Ann s letter?She had an electric torch in the kitchen, and she brought this to make a closerinspection.It was then she found the wet footprints on the carpet.It was a newcarpet and had the disadvantage of showing every stain.Two muddy footprints72 were so clearly on view that she wondered she had not seen them when shecame into the room.She made another discovery: the dressing-table where she had left a numberof brushes neatly arranged was all disarranged.She found one of the clothesbrushes at the foot of the bed, and it had evidently been used to brush somebodywho was very untidy, for it was wet and had a smear of mud at the end of thebristles.Nor had the cool intruder been satisfied with a rough toilet: he had usedher hair-brushes; in the white bristles she saw a coarse black hair.She had seenits kind before: her father had a trick of straightening his beard with any brushthat was handy.Somebody with a beard, a black beard, had tidied himselfbefore the glass.She began to laugh, the idea was so absurd; but it was not longbefore she was serious again.She heard the bell ring in the kitchen, and opened the front door to find theman who acted as porter to the block
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