"See him?" echoed the landlord. "That's the one thing that nobody has
been able to do since seven o'clock this morning. That was the time when
he left word, last night, that he was to be called. He WAS called--and
there was no getting an answer from him, and no opening his door to see
what was the matter. They tried again at eight, and they tried again
at nine. No use! There was the door still locked--and not a sound to be
heard in the room! I have been out this morning--and I only got back a
quarter of an hour ago. I have hammered at the door myself--and all to
no purpose. The potboy has gone to fetch a carpenter. If you can wait
a few minutes, gentlemen, we will have the door opened, and see what it
means."
"Was the man drunk last night?" asked Sergeant Cuff.
"Perfectly sober, sir--or I would never have let him sleep in my house."
"Did he pay for his bed beforehand?"
"No."
"Could he leave the room in any way, without going out by the door?"
"The room is a garret," said the landlord. "But there's a trap-door in
the ceiling, leading out on to the roof--and a little lower down the
street, there's an empty house under repair.
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