Part 27 (1/2)
before 'street' const.i.tute the last half of Ipswell, the name of the street. If that man be Nikola, as we suspect, the person who served him is certain to remember him, and it is just within the bounds of possibility he may know his address.”
”That's so,” said the Inspector, struck with the force of my argument.
”I know Mr. Maxwell's shop, and our best plan will be to go on there as fast as we can.”
Again thanking the landlord for his civility, we returned to our cab and once more set off, this time for Mr. Maxwell's shop in Ipswell Street.
By the time we reached it it was nearly three o'clock, and gradually growing light. As the cab drew up alongside the curb the Inspector jumped out and rang the bell at the side door. It was opened after awhile by a shock-headed youth, who stared at us in sleepy astonishment.
”Does Mr. Maxwell live at the shop?” asked the Inspector.
”No, sir.”
”Where then?”
”Ponson Street--third house on the left-hand side.”
”Thank you.”
Once more we jumped into the cab and rattled off. It seemed to me, so anxious and terrified was I for my darling's safety, that we were fated never to get the information we wanted; the whole thing was like some nightmare, in which, try how I would to move, every step was clogged.
A few minutes' drive brought us to Ponson Street, and we drew up at the third house on the left-hand side. It was a pretty little villa, with a nice front garden and a creeper-covered verandah. We rang the bell and waited. Presently we heard some one coming down the pa.s.sage, and a moment later the door was unlocked.
”Who is there?” cried a voice from within.
”Police,” said my companion as before.
The door was immediately opened, and a very small sandy-complexioned man, dressed in a flaring suit of striped pyjamas, stood before us. ”Is anything wrong, gentlemen?” he asked nervously.
”Nothing to affect you, Mr. Maxwell,” my companion replied. ”We only want a little important information, if you can give it us. We are anxious to discover a man's whereabouts before daylight, and we have been led to believe that you are the only person who can give us the necessary clue.”
”Good gracious! But I shall be happy to serve you if I can,” the little man answered, leading the way into his dining-room with an air of importance his appearance rather belied. ”What is it?”
”Well, it's this,” I replied, producing the piece of envelope and the _Evening Mercury_. ”You see these letters on the top of this paper, don't you?” He nodded, his attention at once secured by seeing his own name. ”Well, that envelope was evidently purchased in your shop. So was this newspaper.”
”How can you tell that?”
”In the case of the envelope, by these letters; in that of the paper, by your rubber stamp on the bottom.”
”Ah! Well, now, and in what way can I help you?”
”We want to know the address of the man who bought them.”
”That will surely be difficult. Can you give me any idea of what he was like?”
”Tall, slightly foreign in appearance, distinctly handsome, sallow complexion, very dark eyes, black hair, small hands and feet.”
As my description progressed the little man's face brightened. Then he cried with evident triumph--”I know the man; he came into the shop yesterday afternoon.”
”And his address is?”