CHAPTER IX

THE FOOTSTEP IN THE DARK At ten minutes to eight that evening there came the rattle of nails on the glass panels of the door of Flat 7. Desmond opened and Francis darted in. He caught his brother’s arm. “Clubfoot!” he gasped. Swiftly Desmond laid his finger on his lips. He turned and closed the door leading from the hall into the little sitting-room. “One of Farandol’s men is inside,” he explained. “I’ve been staving him off all the afternoon, as I’m particularly anxious, for the moment, to keep the police out of t…