The young man made a dart through the door into the hall. Mr. Reeder followed him, closed and bolted the door. He could almost hear his visitor trembling. “Which way do I go, sir?” he whimpered. J.G. led the way up the stairs into the study, and switched on the light. The red-haired youth was a pitiable sight: his face streaked with blood, the knuckles of his hands were bleeding. He had neither collar nor tie, and as he stood, his soaked clothes formed an ever growing pool upon Mr. Reeder’s shabby carpet. “I didn’t intend coming here, but after they tried to kill me----” “I think you had better have a hot bath,” interrupted Mr. Reeder. Fortunately the bathroom was on the first floor, and by some miracle the water was really hot. He left the trembling youth to divest himself of his sodden clothes, and going upstairs, collected a few articles of wearing apparel. In his study he had a coffee-making machine and in the cupboard a large seed cake. He was partial to seed cake. The coffee was brewed and the young man came into the room. He was not an attractive young man. He was very pale, he had a very large nose and a long and bony chin. He was very thin, and Mr. Reeder’s clothes did not so much fit as cover him. He drank the coffee eagerly, looked at the seed cake, shuddered, but betook of it, whilst Mr. Reeder built up the dying fire. “Now, Mr.----” “Edelsheim, Benny Edelsheim,” said the young man. “I live in Pepys Road, New Cross. Did the young ladies tell you about me? I wish I had not run away that night you chased me. She’s a stunning looking girl, isn’t she? I don’t mean the blonde--the other one.” “Have you wakened me up in the middle of the night to discuss the attractions of brunettes?” demanded Mr. Reeder gently. “Who hit you?” The young man felt his head gingerly. He had tied about it a large handkerchief which Mr. Reeder had supplied. “I don’t know, I think it was the fellow in the yellow coat.… There were two of them. I was just going into my house--my father’s house, when a man asked me if I had a match. I didn’t like the look of him, but I was feeling for the match when he hit me. There was a car half-way down the hill--Pepys Road is built on a hill--it used to be called Red Hill once.…” “The topography is familiar to me,” said Mr. Reeder. “What did you do when he hit you?” “I ran,” said the other simply. “I tried to shout, but I couldn’t, and then the other fellow, who was standing by the car, tripped me up.” He looked at his knuckles. “That’s where I got that. I think there were three of them. The chauffeur was standing by the car and he made a dive at me, but I dodged and doubled up the hill--with the fellow in the yellow coat behind me.” “What time was this?” asked Mr. Reeder.