Had he really taken that walk with Pritchard, stood on this spot
with him only a minute or two ago? Then he picked up the police
whistle and he had no longer any doubts. The whole scene was
before him again, more vividly than ever. Even at this moment,
Pritchard might be in need of help!
He turned and walked sharply to the corner of the Terrace,
finding himself almost immediately face to face with a policeman.
"You must come into this house with me at once!" Tavernake
exclaimed, pointing backwards. "A friend of mine was attacked
here just now; a man tried to stab him. They are both in that
house. The man ran away and my friend followed him. The door is
closed and no one answers."
The constable looked at Tavernake very much as the musician had
done.
"Do either of them live there, sir?" he asked.
"How should I know!" Tavernake answered. "The man sprang upon my
friend from behind. He had a knife in his hand--I saw it. My
friend threw him over and he escaped into that house. They are
both there now.
"Which house is it, sir?" the policeman inquired.
They were standing almost in front of it. The gate was open and
Tavernake beat against the panels with the flat of his hand.
Then, with a cry of triumph, he stooped down and picked something
up from a crack in the flagged stones.
"The key!" he cried. "Come on, quick!"
He thrust it into the lock and turned it; the door swung smoothly
open. The policeman laid his hand upon Tavernake's shoulder.
Pages:
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202