It was but a few minutes' drive from headquarters to the boarding-house of Roland Warren's former valet. Carroll parked his car at the curb and inspected the place closely from the outside. There was little architectural beauty to recommend the house. It was a rambling, dilapidated, two-story structure, sadly in need of paint and repairs, and bespeaking occupancy by a family none too well blessed with the better things of existence. They proceeded to the door and rang the bell. A slatternly woman answered their summons, and Leverage addressed her: "We wish to see William Barker, please." "William Barker?" "Yes. I believe he moved here yesterday." "Oh, that feller!" The woman started inside. "Wait a minute," she said crossly, and shut the door in their faces. While they stood waiting, Leverage glanced keenly up and down the street, and his eye lighted on the muscular figure of Cartwright, the plainclothes man, shivering in the partial shelter of an alley across the way. The policeman signaled them that all was well, and resumed his vigil. At that minute the door opened and the woman reappeared. "He ain't home!" she said, and promptly closed the door again. Carroll looked at Leverage and Leverage looked at Carroll. Leverage crossed the street and interrogated Cartwright. "The landlady says he's out, Cartwright. How about it?" "Bum steer, chief! The bird's there--I'll bet my silk shirt on it!" Leverage recrossed the street and reported to Carroll. "You're pretty sure Cartwright has the straight dope!" "Sure thing," said the chief. "He's one of the most reliable men on the force, and when he says a thing, he knows it." Carroll stroked his beardless chin. There was a hard, calculating light in his eyes--eyes which alternated between a soft, friendly blue and a steely gray. Finally he looked up at Leverage. "What's your idea, Eric?" "About him sendin' word he was out when we know he ain't?" "Exactly." "It looks darn funny to me, Carroll! 'Pears like he didn't want to discuss the affair with us." "He don't know who we are." "He can guess pretty well. Any guy with a head on his shoulders knows the valet of a murdered man is going to be quizzed by the police." "Good! Come on." Carroll put a firm hand on the knob and turned it. Then he stepped into the dingy reception hall, followed by the city's chief of police. At the sound of visitors, the angular frame of the boarding-house-keeper appeared in the doorway, her eyes flashing antagonistically. Leverage turned back the lapel of his coat and disclosed the police badge. "Listen here, lady," he said in a voice whose very softness brooked no opposition; "that bird Barker is here, and we're going to see him. Police business! Where's his room?" The woman's face grew ashen. "What's he been doin'?" she quavered. "What's he been up to now?" "What's he been up to before this?" countered Leverage.