Tavernake gave them readily.  They passed out together into the street.

“I shall report this matter,” the man said, closing his book.  “Perhaps the sergeant will have the house searched again.  If you take my advice, sir,” he added, “you’ll go home.”

“I saw them both pass through that door,” Tavernake repeated, half to himself, still standing upon the pavement and staring at the unlit windows.

The constable made no reply but moved off.  Soon he reached the corner of the Terrace and disappeared.  Tavernake slowly crossed the road and with his back to the railings looked steadfastly at the dark front of gray stone houses.  Big Ben struck one o’clock, several people passed backwards and forwards.  Men were coming out from the club, and separating for the night; the roar of the city was growing fainter.  Yet Tavernake felt indisposed to move.  The look in that man’s drawn white face and black eyes haunted him, There was tragedy there, the shadow of terrible things, fear, and the murderous desire to kill!  Through that door they had passed, the two men, one in flight, the other in pursuit.  Where were they now?  Perhaps it had been a trap.  Pritchard had spoken seriously enough of his enemies.

Then, as he stood there, he saw for the first time a thin line of light through the closely-drawn curtains of a room on the ground floor of the adjoining house.  Without a moment’s hesitation, he crossed the road and rang the bell.  The door was opened, after a trifling delay, by a man in plain clothes, who might, however, have been a servant in mufti.  He looked at Tavernake suspiciously.

“I am sorry to have disturbed you,” Tavernake explained, “but I saw some one go in the house next to you, a little time ago.  Can you tell me if you have heard any noises or voices during the last half-hour?”

The man shook his head.

“We have heard nothing, sir,” he said.

“Who lives here?” Tavernake asked.

“Did you call me up at one o’clock in the morning to ask silly questions?” the man replied insolently.  “Every one’s in bed here and I was just going.”

“There’s a light in your ground floor room,” Tavernake remarked.  “There’s some one talking there now—­I can hear voices.”

The man closed the door in his face.  For some time Tavernake wandered restlessly about, starting at last reluctantly homewards.  He had reached the Strand and was crossing Trafalgar Square when a sudden thought held him.  He stood still for a moment in the middle of the street.  Then he turned abruptly round.  In less than five minutes he was once more on the Terrace.

CHAPTER XIX

TAVERNAKE INTERVENES