Mr. Larkin, being by nature and profession curious, drew up and made friendly inquiries. The man answered them, explained the nature of the damage, his speech marked by the crisp, clipped enunciation of the Briton. His costume—negligée shirt, knickerbockers and golf stockings—did not suggest the country house guest, nor was his accent quite that of the English gentleman. The detective, who had some knowledge of these delicate distinctions, laid his bicycle against the bank and proffered his assistance. Together they repaired the stranger’s wheel, and, when it was done, rested from their labors in the shade of the hedge, and engaged in conversation. This at first was of the war—the young man explaining that he was English and had volunteered at once, but been rejected on the ground of his eyes—very near-sighted, couldn’t read the chart at all—touching with an indicating finger the glasses that spanned his nose. After that he’d come to America; he could make good money then and had people dependent on him. At this stage Mr. Larkin asked his profession and learned that he was a valet, by name James Willitts, just now looking for a place. He _had_ been in the employ of Mr. Chapman Price and was still staying with him until he got a new "situation." Mr. Larkin in return recited his little lay about the plumbing business and the bungalow, and, the introductions accomplished, they passed to more general topics and soon reached the Janney robbery. It was a propitious meeting for the detective, for Willitts proved himself a free and expansive talker. He launched forth into the subject with an artless zest, not needing any prompting from his attentive listener. Mr. Larkin was grateful for it all, but especially so for an account of the movements of Mr. Price the day before the robbery. He had sent his valet to Cedar Brook on the morning train, he to follow later in the afternoon. Willitts, after the unpacking and settling was done, had biked over to Grasslands to see "the help," and then made the engagement to meet them that night at the movies. Of course he had to go back, as part of his work was to lay out Mr. Price’s dinner clothes and help him dress, and it was most unfortunate, because, when he went up to Mr. Price’s room, Mr. Price said he wouldn’t change, would keep on the clothes he had and go motoring. "Motoring," observed Mr. Larkin, mildly interested, "did he motor in the evening?" "Not usually—but I don’t know if you remember that night. After a heavy rain it cleared and the moon came out as bright as day." Mr. Larkin didn’t remember himself but he had a vague recollection of having read it in some of the papers. "It was a wonderful night, and if it hadn’t been I’d never have kept my date. For I got side-tracked—had to fetch the doctor for my landlady’s little girl who was taken bad with the croup. And what with that and the long distance I’d have given it up if it hadn’t been for the moon."