“What now?” whispered Holmes. “Is he giving us the slip?”
“Impossible,” answered Pycroft.
“Why so?”
“That door leads into an inner room.”
“There is no exit?”
“None.”
“Is it furnished?”
“It was empty yesterday.”
“Then what on earth can he be doing? There is something which I don’t understand in this manner. If ever a man was three parts mad with terror, that man’s name is Pinner. What can have put the shivers on him?”
“He suspects that we are detectives,” I suggested.
“That’s it,” cried Pycroft.
Holmes shook his head. “He did not turn pale. He was pale when we entered the room,” said he. “It is just possible that—”
His words were interrupted by a sharp rat-tat from the