CHAPTER 15Inspector Bull closed the door of Economy Gowns Ltd. some eight minutes after Mr. Pinkerton had darted down the stairs, and looked up the dark well, with its soot-blackened skylight letting in some fragments of the noon-day sun.
The expression in his eyes was one of genuine bewilderment. What in Heaven’s name Pinkerton—if it was Pinkerton—could be up to, living in such a place, Bull could not understand. That he might be doing nearly anything was not only highly possible but certain. Bull put his hand on the newel post and mounted the stairs. Now that he apparently had run him to earth, he found himself considerably annoyed at the little man. It was not the first time he had run off by himself and barged into enough trouble to fill a hat.
Bull passed the door of the empty flat
