The Green Lantern

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In the partners’ private room at the back premises of Messrs. Ferrars & d’Arblay, the West End jewellers and silversmiths, the lights were still burning although the hour was nearly ten o’clock at night.

In Mr. Ferrars’ chair a man sat reading. He was between thirty and forty years of age, dark-haired, with rather sallow skin, and was dressed in a black jacket and striped trousers. He was finding it difficult to concentrate his mind on the book in front of him, and every few minutes he sat upright in his chair and listened. The door was open, and he could see along the passage into the front premises of the shop, where the lights were also burning. A heavy iron grille, its sections interlocked by a special device, protected the plate-glass windows on Cranbrooke Street.

Putting down his book, the man took up the evening paper that lay on the desk in front of him. His eyes went to a front-page news item which he had already perused at least half a dozen times:

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