Anthony went over to the bed, and flashed his pocket torch on the man’s face. It was a foreign face, pale and emaciated, and the head was swathed in heavy bandages.
The man was bound hand and foot. He stared up at Anthony like one dazed.
Anthony bent over him, and as he did so he heard a sound behind him and swung round, his hand travelling to his coat pocket.
But a sharp command arrested him.
“Hands up, sonny. You didn’t expect to see me here, but I happened to catch the same train as you at Victoria.”
It was Mr. Hiram Fish who was standing in the doorway. He was smiling and in his hand was a big blue automatic.