Standing in the shelter of the little hut, I listened to the rain dripping from over-reaching branches and to the gurgling of a turgid little stream which flowed along the gutter near my feet whilst now and again swift gusts of the expiring tempest would set tossing the branches of the trees which lined the way.
"It's much cooler to-night," said the sergeant.
I nodded, being in the act of lighting my pipe. The storm had interrupted a spell of that tropical weather which sometimes in July and August brings the breath of Africa to London, and this coolness resulting from the storm was very welcome. Then:
"Well, good night," I said, and was about to pursue my way when the telephone bell in the police-hut rang sharply.
I paused, idly curious concerning the message, and:
"The Red House," continued the sergeant, "in College Road? Yes, I know it. It's on Bolton's beat, and he is due here now. Very good; I'll tell him."
He hung up the receiver and, turning to me, smiled and nodded his head resignedly.
"The police get some funny jobs, sir," he confided. "Only last night a gentleman rang up the station and asked them to tell me to stop a short, stout lady with yellow hair and a big blue hat (that was the only description) as she passed this point and to inform her that her husband had had to go out but that he had left the door-key just inside the dog-kennel!"
"Now to-night," he resumed, "here's somebody just rung up to say that he thinks, only _thinks_, mind you, that he has forgotten to lock his garage and will the constable on that beat see if the keys have been left behind. If so, will he lock the door from the inside, go out through the back, lock that door and leave the keys at the station on coming off duty!"
"Yes," I said. "There are some absent-minded people in the world. But do you mean the Red House in College Road?"
"That's it," replied the sergeant, stepping out of the hut and looking intently to the left.
He referred to a stolid, red-faced constable who at that moment came plodding across the muddy road, and:
"A job for you, Bolton," he cried. "Listen. You know the Red House in College Road?"
Bolton removed his helmet and scratched his closely-cropped head.
"Let me see," he mused; "it's on the right--"