SO writing, the telephone buzzed, and in his unflurried way he finished his entry and blotted it before he took up the instrument.
“Captain Gordon wishes you to take the first taxi you can find and come to his house—the matter is very urgent,” said a voice. “I am speaking from Harley Terrace.”
“All right.” Elk found his hat and umbrella, stopped long enough to return the records to their home, and went out into the dark courtyard.
There are two entrances to Scotland Yard: one that opens into Whitehall and was by far the best route for him, since Whitehall is filled with cabs; the other on to the Thames Embankment, which, in addition to offering the longest way round, would bring him to a thoroughfare where, at this hour of the night, taxis would be few and far between. So engrossed was
