NCE or twice during the hour of strenuous work which followed, he heard Sam Haggitt's stealthy feet on the stairs, and once caught the glitter of his glasses as he disappeared in a hurry. When he came down it was nearly seven o'clock. Sam, very businesslike in his green baize apron, with a pail of water and a wash-leather in his hand, was industriously cleaning the windows, somewhat hampered by the bars.
"How is he, sir?" he asked.
Alan did not reply. He walked over to the table, picked up one of the two empty bottles, shook the third, which was half empty, and noted the soiled glass which stood on a little table by the side of the armchair.
"Dr. Lomond says there is very little the matter with him except this." He examined the bottle critically. "Now, Haggitt, I'd like to ask you a question or two. Why did you telephone to me?"
"I told you," said Sam doggedly. "He was raising Cain. I didn't know it was drink. Drink never affects me that way: it makes me sort of happy and silly. I proposed to my wife when I was drunk. I'd never have got married if I'd been a teetotaller. These Americans are right about booze—it oughtn't to be allowed."
"You called me because you didn't want to be implicated, eh? That's the worst of having a bad record," smiled Wembury, intent upon his inspection of the apartment.
It was the first opportunity he had had of looking around at his leisure.
"The difference between me and Meister is that I've been found out and he hasn't," said Sam grimly; "and as to having a bad character"
Alan was at the mysterious door, the bolted door that was never opened and led to nowhere. He lifted the steel bars which covered the panel, found a small knob and pulled open the tiny door. It was operated by a spring, and when he released hold of the knob it went back to its place with a crash.
"Where does this door lead?"
Sam Haggitt shook his head. It was a question that had puzzled him, and he had promised himself the pleasure of an inspection the first time he was left alone in the house.
"I don't know: I've never seen it open. Maybe it's where he keeps his money. That fellow must be worth millions, Wembury."
Alan pulled up the bolts and tried the door again. It was locked, and he looked round.
"Is there a key to this?"
Sam hesitated. He had the thief's natural desire to appear in the light of a fool.
"Yes, there is a key," he said at last, his anxiety for information overcoming his inclination towards a reputation for innocence. "It's hanging up over the mantelpiece. I happen to know because"
"Because you've tried it," said Alan, and Sam protested so violently that he guessed that whatever plan he may have formed had not yet been put into execution.
Wembury took down the key and examined it: there was no sign of dust. There were, on the other hand, many proofs of usage. Snapping back the lock, he pulled open the door and found himself on a bare landing. He looked down into a square hall which seemed to have been erected for no other purpose than to afford the builder an excuse for erecting the staircase, which terminated in a door leading, as he guessed, to the garden. Returning, he examined the trapdoor of the panel again.
"Humph! What is this? Do you hold a lodge meeting here or something?"
"Good Templars maybe," said Haggitt, with irony. "I can imagine old Meister bein' anything, if there was money in it."
"Is it the key to the bottom entrance?"
"Didn't know there was a bottom entrance," said Sam.
Alan relocked the mystery door, thrust home the bolts and hung up the key, whistling softly.
"That's a very convenient way into this room," he said. "Did you ever use it, Haggitt?"
"Me, sir?" asked Haggitt innocently. "Why should I use it? As a matter of fact, Meister told me the other day that it was built by the gentleman who owned this house years and years ago, so that he could see his lady friends without anybody being wiser. Maybe he was married," concluded Haggitt on reflection.
Alan walked to the door leading to the room above and listened: he thought he heard Meister talking.
"Why is he drinking so heavily, Haggitt?"
Haggitt shrugged his shoulders.
"How do I know, Mr. Wembury?"
Yet there was a note of uneasiness in his voice, and he watched the detective roaming about the apartment a little anxiously. Alan pulled at the new window grille.
"When were these put up?"
"Yesterday," he said, and over his shoulder Wembury asked an embarrassing question.
"What is he afraid of?"
Mr. Haggitt made an impatient noise.