There was a window on the landing, and he opened it. The snow dust floated through it, but in less quantities, and there was a perceptible abatement in the violence of the storm. He closed the window.
"It ain't so bad as it was. Mrs. Middlemore, do you think I could force this door open?"
"Not without tools," said Mrs. Middlemore. "It's made of oak."
"No harm in trying," said Constable Nightingale. "Here, Wigg, give us a pound."
They applied their shoulders with a will, but their united efforts produced no impression.
"It's got to be opened," said Constable Nightingale, "by fair means or foul. Wigg, do you know of a locksmith about here?"
In point of fact Constable Nightingale knew of one, but it was at some little distance, and he did not want to leave Constable Wigg and Mrs. Middlemore alone.
"There's one in Wardour Street," he said.
"Is there?" said Constable Wigg. "I'm new to the neighborhood, and I'm certain I shouldn't be able to find it."
"All right," said Constable Nightingale, briskly, seeing his way out of the difficulty, "we'll go together."
"And leave me alone 'ere after what's happened!" cried Mrs. Middlemore. "Not if you was to fill my lap with dymens! That 'orrid cat 'd come and scare the life out of me!"
"We can't all go," mused Constable Nightingale, with a stern eye on his comrade, "and I ain't a man to shirk a duty; but don't go back on a pal, Wigg, whatever you do."
"Nobody could ever bring that against me, Nightingale," said Constable Wigg, in an injured tone; "and I don't know what you're driving at."
"I hope you don't," said Constable Nightingale, by no means softened, "that's all I've got to say. I hope you don't. You'd better both see me to the door, and shut it after me. And mind you keep your ears open to let me in when I come back."
Constable Nightingale, a victim to duty, was presently battling with the storm through the deserted streets, while Constable Wigg and Mrs. Middlemore, at the housekeeper's suggestion, made their way to the warm kitchen, where she brewed for her companion a stiff glass of grog. "What did Mr. Nightingale mean," asked Mrs. Middlemore, "when he said never go back on a pal?"
"I'd rather not say," replied Constable Wigg, and then appeared suddenly to come to a different conclusion.