“Not alone, I reckon, sir.” Bell stood up. “Well, you come and chaperon me. Yes, I want to look at ’em, Lomas. Wilton’s a medical man, you know. I want to see the patients, too.” “You can try it,” Lomas said dubiously. “You realize we have nothing definite against Witt, and nothing at all against Kuyper. And I’m not sure that Kuyper hasn’t smelt a rat. He’s been staying at the Olympian. He was there on Tuesday night, but last night our men lost him.” “Come on, Bell,” said Mr. Fortune. Outside the big new block in Mawdleyn Lane Superintendent Bell stopped a moment and looked round. A man crossed the road and made a sign as he vanished into a doorway “He’s in, sir,” Bell said, and they went up to the offices of Mr. Julius Kuyper. A pert young woman received them. They wanted to see Mr. Kuyper? By appointment? Oh, Mr. Kuyper never saw anyone except by appointment. “He’ll see me,” said Bell, and gave her a card. She looked him over impudently and vanished. Another young woman peered round the glass screen at them. “Sorry.” The first young woman came briskly back. “Mr. Kuyper’s not in. Better write and ask for an appointment.” “That won’t do. Who is in?” said Bell heavily. “Don’t you bully me!” she cried. “You don’t want to get into trouble, do you?” Bell frowned down at her. “You go in there and say Superintendent Bell is waiting to see Mr. Witt.” “We haven’t got any Mr. Witt.” “You do as you’re told.” She went. She was gone a long time. A murmur of voices was audible. She came out again, looking flustered. “Well, what about it?” said Bell. “I don’t know anything about it,” she said. A door slammed, a bell rang. She made a nervous exclamation and turned to answer it. Bell went first and Reggie on his heels. In the inner room an oldish man stood smoothing his hair. He was flushed and at the sight of Bell he cried out: “But you intrude, sir.” “Ah, here’s our old friend, Mr. Witt,” Bell smiled. “I should----” “There is some mistake. You are wrong, sir. What is your name? Mr. Superintendent--my name is Siegel.” “I dare say it is. Then why did you call yourself Witt?” “I do not know what you mean.” “I don’t forget faces. I should know you anywhere. You’re the Mr. Witt who prosecuted Dr. Horace Wilton. Come, come, the game’s up now.” “What do you mean by that, sir?” “Time to tell the truth,” said Reggie sweetly, “time you began to think of yourself, isn’t it? We know all about the evidence in the Wilton burglary. Why did you do it, Mr. Witt? It wasn’t safe, you know.” “What do you want?” “Well, where’s your friend Mr. Kuyper? We had better have him in.” “Mr. Kuyper has gone out, sir.” Reggie laughed. “Oh, I don’t think so. You’re not doing yourself justice. I don’t suppose you wanted to trap Dr. Wilton. You’d better consider your position. What is Mr. Kuyper’s little game with you?” Mr. Witt looked nervously round the room. “You--you mustn’t--I mean we can’t talk here,” he said. “The girls will be listening.”