A flurried hall-porter ran out to open the
door, and we alighted opposite the main entrance.
"My brother-in-law's chambers are on the second-floor," said Mr. Curtis.
"We can go up in the lift."
The porter had hurried before us, and already stood with his hand upon
the rope. We entered the lift, and in a few seconds were discharged on
to the second floor, the porter, with furtive curiosity, following us
down the corridor. At the end of the passage was a half-open door,
considerably battered and bruised. Above the door, painted in white
lettering, was the inscription, "Mr. Hartridge"; and through the doorway
protruded the rather foxy countenance of Inspector Badger.
"I am glad you have come, sir," said he, as he recognized my colleague.
"Mr. Marchmont is sitting inside like a watch-dog, and he growls if any
of us even walks across the room."
The words formed a complaint, but there was a certain geniality in the
speaker's manner which made me suspect that Inspector Badger was already
navigating his craft on a lee shore.
We entered a small lobby or hall, and from thence passed into the
sitting-room, where we found Mr.
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