CHAPTER 5Next morning Mr. Pinkerton closed the door on his new landlord and clung weakly for a moment to the knob, listening to Mr. Berquist run lightly down the stairs. Then he turned round, in sole possession of his extraordinary domicile. Mr. Berquist and wife had taken lodgings temporarily in Russell Square, Mr. Berquist said; but they would be on call at any time, to assist in any possible way.
“I shall jolly well need assistance,” Mr. Pinkerton was thinking. He latched the door and tiptoed across the tiny hall. Then he stopped, came back, unlatched the door again, opened it and propped it a foot ajar with his umbrella. He felt a bit more comfortable with it that way.
His pigskin bag, standing in the centre of the lower level of his living room, looked strangely forlorn and out of p
