Besides the door into the bedroom there was another which he had missed, masked behind a heavy curtain. He flung it open and entered a tiled lobby furnished only with a hat-stand and an occasional table. Opening the farther door, he found himself in the corridor, and sprinted for the stairs. He overtook nobody in his headlong descent, and he saw nobody he recognised in the street. The porter's cubicle at the entrance was empty, and while Storm stroked his chin in perplexity that worthy toiler came across the road singing a little tune. "I run out of fags," he replied to Storm's brisk query. "I just went over to a slot machine up the street. No, not five minutes ago--shortly after all those men came out." "Have you seen any other guys come out or go in?" asked Storm, and the man shook his head. Kit climbed the stairs again with a frown, and found Teal ruminating torpidly in the bedroom. The detective was dangling a flimsy article of feminine underwear in one of his vast paws. "This is embroidered 'J.S.'," he said. "Sounds like my old friend Joan to me." Storm scowled. "D'you know we're a couple of dyed-in-the-wool mutts?" he demanded. "I'm willing to bet the Big Triangle was lying doggo in the vestibule all the time I was making that first search--I never spotted the hall. And when I went back to the big room he must have padded back and listened to everything we said.... _God's Glory!_" The oath cracked out like the lash of a stock-whip, and Teal's eyes opened wide at the sibilant intensity of it. Storm had picked up a brass candlestick, and he smashed it into the glass front of one of the compartments of the bookcase. He wrenched Open the dummy line of books, and then stepped back with his lips lifting from his white teeth. The headphones and mouthpiece were back in their places, connected up. "Great Thor in hell!" he breathed. In an instant he was back to the outer sitting-room. He grabbed up the telephone and gave a number even as Teal, moving with astonishing speed, arrived behind him. "Hullo," snapped Arden. "_Hullo_ ... Pentonville? ... How long have you been on duty? ... Right. Then what time did you get my order for the prison van? ... I see." Storm's voice suddenly became gentle. "You're absolutely certain no call could have come through and been taken by someone else? ... Oh--about half an hour ago.... Arden, Central Office, five-double-seven--you poor fish. Why not think of asking before? ... Well, get me the Governor.... My dear good soul, I don't care if he's asleep--I don't care if he'll be furious--I don't care if he's dying! _Get--me--the--Governor_.... Thank you." A lengthy pause, and then a querulous growl: "Yes?" "Colonel Dayne?" The affirmative was unprintable. "I called you up about half an hour ago and ordered your van to Cornwall House. A van came, but apparently it was a fake. I want you to send a man down to your garage and find out if your van is there."