XV

Jim continued his journey to the flat, so enveloped in the rosy clouds which had descended upon him that he was unconscious of time or space, and it seemed that he had only stepped into the cab when it jerked to a halt before the portals of Featherdale Mansions. He might have continued in his dream without interruption had not the cabman, with some asperity, called him back to remind him that he had not paid his fare.

That brought him back to the earth.

As he was about to open the outer door of the flats (it was closed at eleven every night) the door opened of its own accord and he stepped back to allow a lady to pass. She was dressed from head to foot in black and she passed him without a word, he staring after her as she walked with quick steps to a motorcar that he had noticed drawn up a few yards from where his cab had stopped. Who was she? he wondered as the car passed out of sight.

He dismissed her from his thoughts, for the glamour of the evening was not yet passed, and for an hour he sat in his big chair, staring into vacancy and recalling every incident of that previous evening. He could not believe it was true that this half-divine being was to be his; and then, with a deep sigh, he aroused himself to a sense of reality.

There was work to be done, he thought, as he rose to his feet, and it was work for her. His income was a small one, and must be considerably augmented before he dare ask this beautiful lady to share his lot.

He glanced idly at the table. That afternoon he had been writing up his notes of the case and the book was still where he had left it, only⁠—

He could have sworn he had left it open. He had a remarkable memory for little things, tiny details of placements and position, and he was sure the book had not only been closed, but that its position had been changed.

A woman came in the mornings to clean the flat and make his bed and invariably he let her in himself. She usually arrived when he was making his own breakfast⁠—another fad of his. She had no key, and under any circumstances never came at night.

He opened the book and almost jumped.

Between the pages, marking the place where he had been writing, was a key of a peculiar design. Attached to the handle was a tiny label on which was written: “D. G.’s master key.”

This time there was no sign of the Blue Hand, but he recognized the writing. It was the same which had appeared on the warning card which the girl had received.

The woman in black had been to his flat⁠—and had left him the means to enter Digby Groat’s premises!

“Phew!” whistled Jim in amazement.