He slipped outside again.
Tommy stood still for a minute, then hearing nothing went on. He took a torch from his pocket and switched on the light for a brief second. That momentary flash enabled him to see his way ahead.
He pushed forward and tried the closed door ahead of him. That too gave, and very softly he pushed it open and went in.
After standing still a second and listening, he again switched on the torch, and at that flash, as though at a given signal, the place seemed to rise round him.
Two men were in front of him, two men were behind him. They closed in on him, and bore him down.
“Lights,” growled a voice.
An incandescent gas burner was lit.
By its light Tommy saw a circle of unpleasing faces. His eyes wandered gently round the room and noted some of the objects in it.
“Ah!” he said pleasantly. “The headquarters of the counterfeiting industry, if I am not mistaken.”
“Shut your jaw,” growled one of the men.
The door opened and shut behind Tommy, and a genial and well known voice spoke.
“Got him, boys. That’s right. Now, Mr. Busy, let me tell you you’re up against it.”
“That dear old word,” said Tommy. “How it thrills me. Yes. I am the Mystery Man of Scotland Yard. Why it’s Mr. Hank Ryder. This is a surprise.”