policeman who stood on the corner where Bennett Street meets Hyde Lane had the world to himself. It was nearing three o'clock on a chilly morning of early fall. The good and bad of Mayfair slept—all, apparently, except Mr. J. G. Reeder, Friend of the Law and Terror of Criminals. Police-Officer Dyer saw the yellow light behind the casemented window and smiled benevolently.
The night was so still that when he heard a key turn in a lock, he looked over his shoulder, thinking the noise was from the house immediately behind him. But the door did not move. Instead he saw a woman appear on the top doorstep five houses away. She wore a flimsy .
"Officer!"
The voice was low, cultured, very urgent. He moved more quickly toward her than policemen usually move.
"Anything wrong, miss?"
Her face, he noticed in his worldly way, was "made up"; the cheeks heavily rouged, the lips a startling red for one who was afraid. He supposed her to be pretty in normal circumstances, but was doubtful as to her age. She wore a long black dressing-gown, fastened up to her chin. Also he saw that the hand that gripped the railing which flanked the steps glittered in the lights of the street lamps.
"I don't know ... quite. I am alone in the house and I —thought I heard ... something."
Three words to a breath. Obviously she was terrified.
"Haven't you any servants in the house?"
The constable was surprised, a little shocked.
"No. I only came back from Paris at midnight—we took the house furnished—I think the servants I engaged mistook the date of my return. I am Mrs. Granville Fornese."
In a dim way he remembered the name. It had that value of familiarity which makes even the most assured hesitate to deny acquaintance. It sounded grand, too—the name of a Somebody. And Bennett Street was a place where Somebodies live.
The officer peered into the dark hall.
"If you would put the light on, madam, I will look round."
She shook her head; he almost felt the shiver of her.
"The lights aren't working. That is what frightened me. They were quite all right when I went to bed at one o'clock. Something woke me ... I don't know what ... and I switched on the lamp by the side of my bed, but there was no light. I keep a little portable battery lamp in my bag. I found this and turned it on."
She stopped, set her teeth in a mirthless smile. Police Officer Dyer saw the dark eyes were staringly wide.
"I saw ... I don't know what it was ... just a patch of black, like somebody crouching by the wall. Then it disappeared. And the door of my room was wide open. I closed and locked it when I went to bed."
The officer pushed open the door wider, sent a white beam of light along the passage. There was a small hall table against the wall, where a telephone instrument stood. Striding into the hall, he took up the instrument and lifted the hook: the 'phone was dead.
"Does this"
So far he got with the question, and then stopped. From somewhere above him he heard a fault but sustained creak—the sound of a foot resting on a faulty floor board. Mrs. Fornese was still standing in the open doorway, and he went back to her.
"Have you a key to this door?" he asked, and she shook her head.
He felt along the inner surface of the lock and found a stop-catch, pushed it up.
"I'll have to 'phone from somewhere. You'd better..."
What had she best do? He was a plain police-constable and was confronted with a delicate situation.
"Is there anywhere you could go ... friends?"
"No." There was no indecision in that word. And then: "Doesn't Mr. Reeder live opposite? Somebody told me..."
In the house opposite a light showed. Mr. Dyer surveyed the lighted window dubiously. It stood for the elegant apartment of one who held a post superior to chief constables. No. 7 Bennett Street had been at a recent period converted into flats, and into one of these Mr. Reeder had moved from his suburban home. Why he should take a flat in that exclusive and interesting neighbourhood, nobody knew. He was credited by criminals with being fabulously rich; he was undoubtedly a snug man.
The constable hesitated, searched his pocket for the smallest coin of the realm, and, leaving the lady on the doorstep, crossed the road and tossed a ha'penny to the window. A second later the casement window was pushed open.
"Excuse me, Mr. Reeder, could I see you for a second?"