6. Under attack
The door to the back room was locked when we tried it. Archie unlocked it with two shots from his service revolver, the wood around the lock splintering with the force of the rounds. A hefty kick and we were in. The room gaped back at us, empty except for a rickety old table, three chairs and two filthy glasses. On the table smoke curled slowly upwards from a recently extinguished candle.
“The candle, Harker,” cried Archie. “See the way it’s melted?”
I failed to see anything significant, something I made clear to my pal.
“That candle, Harker, has been alight in a draught. Look at the way it has melted. It has been extinguished by a breeze. The window, quick!”
And he was right. The small window in front of us appeared to be shut but had been closed without being secure
