He reached the door, turned the knob of the patent lock and jerked it open.
A man was standing on the mat and he jumped back at the unexpectedness of Tarling's appearance.

The stranger was a cadaverous-looking man, in a brand-new suit of clothes, evidently ready-made, but he still wore on his face the curious yellow tinge which is the special mark of the recently liberated gaol-bird.
"Beg pardon," he stammered, "but is this No.

87 ?" Tarling shot out a hand, and gripping him by the coat, drew the helpless man towards him.
"Hullo, what are you trying to do?
What's this you have ?" He wrenched something from the man's hand.

It was not a key but a flat-toothed instrument of strange construction.
"Come in," said Tarling, and jerked his prisoner into the hall.
A swift turning back of his prisoner's coat pinioned him, and then with dexterousness and in silence he proceeded to search.

From two pockets he took a dozen jewelled rings, each bearing the tiny tag of Lyne's Store.
"Hullo!" said Tarling sarcastically, "are these intended as a loving gift from Mr.Lyne to Miss Rider ?" The man was speechless with rage.