"I shan't move from here," Cresswell declared, turning to his companion. "I shall hold on to that chap myself if he comes out before we can get the men together. Will you hurry, Aaron? There's one at the corner of Parliament Street." "And the other's here," a quiet voice said behind. "It's all right, Mr. Cresswell. I've sent for Jimmy. I saw that man go in. Know who he is?" "I do that," the poet assented. "His ship's been searched twice," the inspector went on. "We had a Secret Service man on board the last time they crossed. Nothing was discovered, but he's under suspicion. When I saw him turn in here, I thought things might be coming our way." "Inspector," Cresswell asked eagerly, "your powers will allow you to hold him, won't they?" "I think I'll have to stretch them a bit, sir," the man replied. "We'll wait till he comes out. You'd better let the hall-porter get an extra constable. This Dutchman is a pretty difficult customer to tackle." The hall-porter, who had been divided between curiosity and nervousness, departed with alacrity. The men spread themselves out a little. The poet and Aaron Rodd affected great interest in the lighting of cigarettes. A small boy in buttons eyed them with immense inquisitiveness. There was something up! He whispered the news to the lift-boy, who had strolled out for a breath of fresh air. A ripple of electrical interest thrilled the group. The hall-porter returned, an unwilling constable in the rear. "What's this?" he enquired of the elder of the two plain-clothes men. "I can't leave my beat unless there's a charge." The man showed him a badge. The constable saluted. "Wait just outside," the former whispered. The hall-porter suddenly thrust his head through the swing doors. "Party you're enquiring for, sir, has just come out of number two," he announced. "He's stepping into a taxi." There was a rush for the door, which the poet led. The taxicab was disappearing round the corner as they reached the entrance of the next block of flats. The hall-porter, still dangling his whistle, watched their approach with amazement. "What address--that taxi?" the inspector asked quickly. "Monico's, Shaftesbury Avenue." "Another taxi, quick!" The man blew his whistle. A taxicab from the rank obeyed the summons. "The fellow can't suspect anything if he's really gone to the Monico," the inspector observed.