The police car raced up Chancery Lane and screeched to a standstill by the kerb. Four men tumbled out.
“Stay and watch the lift, constable.” cried Haines to the uniformed policeman. He pounded up the stairs, with Ogilvie and Sergeant Miles just behind him. The pace was killing, but he kept going. Noises from above reverberated through the empty building. It sounded as though a dozen people must be rioting up there.
As they turned to take the last flight they could hear Jessop’s voice. “I am the instrument of Providence,” he was shouting, as though addressing a multitude. “All my enemies shall be swept away. The Augean stables shall be cleansed.”
“Christ!” muttered Ogilvie. They reached the landing. There was a peal of maniacal laughter from the flat. Jessop was yelling and raving. Suddenly he began to sing “For I’m a jolly good fellow” in a high-pitched, unnatural voice.
Haines put his shoulder to the door. The racket stopped. He motioned to Miles and the two of them stepped back and flung their combined weight against the lock. It gave a little. They tried again, and the door burst open with a splintering crash.
The room looked as though a bomb had exploded in it. Battered and broken furniture had been piled up against the kitchen door. Jessop was sitting on top of it, giggling to himself. “They’re dead,” he said in a jubilant whisper, seeming not to notice the policemen, and giggled again.
The police advanced. From the inner room a voice suddenly called out, “Is that you, Inspector?”
“Yes, Mr. Iredale. Are you all right?”
“Yes, we’re okay.”
“Thank God for that.”
Jessop gave a wild scream of rage as he realised that Katharine and Iredale were still alive and that these men had come for him. He struggled off the barricade and hurled himself at Ogilvie, biting and kicking like a child in a tantrum. It was a job to hold him, but in a few seconds he was overpowered.
“Take him downstairs,” said Haines, wiping the sweat from his face. He set to work to dismantle the barricade. He could see now why Iredale had been unable to break out—a heavy chair was wedged firmly under the door handle. He worked it loose, moved the wooden chest and a divan, and pulled the door open.
“Thanks, Inspector.” Iredale helped Katharine out and looked grimly round the shattered room. Jessop’s frenzied cries were still faintly audible. “Where are they taking him?” he asked.
“Don’t worry about him, Mr. Iredale—he’ll be well looked after.”
“Poor devil!” Iredale took a long breath. “My God, that was a darned near thing.”
“It certainly was,” said Haines. “I was afraid he’d use the cyanide.”
“He tried to. Take a look in the sink.”
Haines went into the kitchen. Under the tap there was a dirty mass of tobacco from which brown stains were spreading over the wet surface. He turned in astonishment. “What on earth …?”
“It’s quite simple,” said Katharine. She opened her handbag and took out a tobacco tin. “Here’s the cyanide.”
Haines looked inside and saw grey-white crystals. “I still don’t see …”
“I switched the tins round,” Katharine explained. “It was in the taxi on the way here—we were all three sitting close together and I happened to feel the tin in Jessop’s pocket. I couldn’t share Bill’s faith in him—he wasn’t my friend. So just as a precaution, I took it out and gave him the one from Bill’s pocket instead.”
“Well, I’m damned!” ejaculated Haines.
“And I thought you were being amorous,” said Iredale.