“Good!” said Angel cheerfully. “When you have, you will find the ends of three cigarettes--two in the room where the old man was killed, and one in the safe room. They are marked ‘Al Kam,’ and are a fairly expensive variety of Egyptian cigarettes. Massey smoked cigars; old Reale did not smoke at all. The question is”--he went on speaking aloud to himself, and ignoring the perplexed police official--“was it Connor or was it Jimmy?” The inspector struggled with a desire to satisfy his curiosity at the expense of his dignity, and resolved to maintain an attitude of superior incredulity. He turned back to his work. “It would be jolly difficult to implicate either of them,” Angel went on reflectively, addressing the back of the inspector. “They would produce fifty unimpeachable alibis, and bring an action for wrongful arrest in addition,” he added artfully. “They can’t do that,” said the inspector gruffly. “Can’t they?” asked the innocent Angel. “Well, at any rate, it’s not advisable to arrest them. Jimmy would----” Inspector Boyden swung round in his chair. “I don’t know whether you’re ‘pulling my leg,’ Mr. Angel. You are perhaps unused to the procedure in criminal cases in London, and I must now inform you that at present I am in charge of the case, and must request that if you have any information bearing upon this crime to give it to me at once.” “With all the pleasure in life,” said Angel heartily. “In the first place, Jimmy----” “Full name, please.” The inspector dipped his pen in ink. “Haven’t the slightest idea,” said the other carelessly. “Everybody knows Jimmy. He was old Reale’s most successful decoy duck. Had the presence and the plumage and looked alive, so that all the other little ducks used to come flying down and settle about him, and long before they could discover that the beautiful bird that attracted them was only painted wood and feathers, ‘Bang! bang!’ went old Reale’s double-barrel, and roast duck was on the menu for days on end.” Inspector Boyden threw down his pen with a grunt. “I’m afraid,” he said in despair, “that I cannot include your parable in my report. When you have any definite information to give, I shall be pleased to receive it.” Later, at Scotland Yard, Angel interviewed the Commissioner. “What sort of a man is Boyden to work with?” asked Mr. Commissioner. “A most excellent chap--good-natured, obliging, and as zealous as the best of ’em,” said Angel, which was his way. “I shall leave him in charge of the case,” said the Chief. “You couldn’t do better,” said Angel decisively. Then he went home to his flat in Jermyn Street to dress for dinner. It was an immaculate Angel Esquire who pushed through the plate-glass, turn-table door of the Heinz, and, walking into the magnificent old rose dining-room, selected a table near a window looking out on to Piccadilly. The other occupant of the table looked up and nodded. “Hullo, Angel!” he said easily.