He could not really grasp that this was happening to him. Instead of being the Apostle of Gloom, Abbott became the Apostle of Doom. For with every minute which passed one thing became more obvious. The Superintendent would not have come here, and Chatworth would not have signed the warrant, unless they felt reasonably sure that they would find evidence that he had accepted bribes.

He lit a cigarette and stared at Janet helplessly. Her lips curved in an encouraging smile.

The men were still moving about upstairs and time was flying — it was a quarter past five. Every minute worsened the suspense.

Janet turned restlessly towards the window.

“How much longer will they be?”

“Not long,” Roger said.

Mark broke in, reassuringly.

“After all, no news is good news. If they’d found the alleged evidence they would have come down by now.”

Almost as he spoke, footsteps sounded on the stairs.

The three turned towards the door, and only the plainclothes man seemed indifferent. All of the search party appeared to be coming and Roger, feeling a curious mixture of relief and tension, stared at the door handle. Someone spoke in a low-pitched voice but the handle did not turn. The front door opened and footsteps scraped on the narrow gravel path.

Roger muttered a sharp imprecation, stepped towards the door and opened it. Abbott was standing at the foot of the stairs.

“Well?” The word almost choked Roger.

“I want you to believe that I’m really sorry about this,” Abbott said. His lips moved so little that he looked incapable of feeling. He glanced towards the open door, and Roger, following his gaze, saw a woman approaching with Sergeant Martin. He recognised the newcomer as a tall, round-faced, jovial policewoman, one of the few female detectives at the Yard. Her purpose was only too apparent. He turned back to Abbott and spoke in a low-pitched, angry voice.