“Come along with me, sir,” said Sergeant Cuff, coolly leading the way up-stairs, and beckoning to the boy to follow him.

The barmaid called to her master, and warned him that strangers were intruding themselves into the house.  On the first floor we were encountered by the Landlord, hurrying down, in a highly irritated state, to see what was the matter.

“Who the devil are you? and what do you want here?” he asked.

“Keep your temper,” said the Sergeant, quietly.  “I’ll tell you who I am to begin with.  I am Sergeant Cuff.”

The illustrious name instantly produced its effect.  The angry landlord threw open the door of a sitting-room, and asked the Sergeant’s pardon.

“I am annoyed and out of sorts, sir—­that’s the truth,” he said.  “Something unpleasant has happened in the house this morning.  A man in my way of business has a deal to upset his temper, Sergeant Cuff.”

“Not a doubt of it,” said the Sergeant.  “I’ll come at once, if you will allow me, to what brings us here.  This gentleman and I want to trouble you with a few inquiries, on a matter of some interest to both of us.”

“Relating to what, sir?” asked the landlord.

“Relating to a dark man, dressed like a sailor, who slept here last night.”

“Good God! that’s the man who is upsetting the whole house at this moment!” exclaimed the landlord.  “Do you, or does this gentleman know anything about him?”

“We can’t be certain till we see him,” answered the Sergeant.

“See him?” echoed the landlord.  “That’s the one thing that nobody has been able to do since seven o’clock this morning.  That was the time when he left word, last night, that he was to be called.  He was called—­and there was no getting an answer from him, and no opening his door to see what was the matter.  They tried again at eight, and they tried again at nine.  No use!  There was the door still locked—­and not a sound to be heard in the room!  I have been out this morning—­and I only got back a quarter of an hour ago.  I have hammered at the door myself—­and all to no purpose.  The potboy has gone to fetch a carpenter.  If you can wait a few minutes, gentlemen, we will have the door opened, and see what it means.”

“Was the man drunk last night?” asked Sergeant Cuff.

“Perfectly sober, sir—­or I would never have let him sleep in my house.”

“Did he pay for his bed beforehand?”

“No.”

“Could he leave the room in any way, without going out by the door?”

“The room is a garret,” said the landlord.  “But there’s a trap-door in the ceiling, leading out on to the roof—­and a little lower down the street, there’s an empty house under repair.  Do you think, Sergeant, the blackguard has got off in that way, without paying?”

“A sailor,” said Sergeant Cuff, “might have done it—­early in the morning, before the street was astir.  He would be used to climbing, and his head wouldn’t fail him on the roofs of the houses.”