‘Any name on the dray?’ asked Mr. Avery. ‘There was,’ replied the spokesman, ‘but I’m blessed if I knows what it was. ’Ere Bill, you was talking about that there name. Where was it?’ Another man spoke. ‘It was Tottenham Court Road, it was. But I didn’t know the street, and I thought that a strange thing, for I’ve lived off the Tottenham Court Road all my life.’ ‘Was it East John Street?’ asked Inspector Burnley. ‘Ay, it was something like that. East or West. West, I think. An’ it was something like John. Not John, but something like it.’ ‘What colour was the dray?’ ‘Blue, very fresh and clean.’ ‘Any one notice the colour of the horse?’ But this was beyond them. The horse was out of their line. Its colour had not been observed. ‘Well,’ said Mr. Avery, as the Inspector signed that was all he wanted, ‘we are much obliged to you. Here’s something for you.’ Inspector Burnley beckoned to Broughton. ‘You might describe this man Harkness.’ ‘He was a tall chap with a sandy moustache, very high cheek-bones, and a big jaw. He was dressed in brown dungarees and a cloth cap.’ ‘You hear that,’ said the Inspector, turning to the plain-clothes men. ‘They have half an hour’s start. Try to get on their track. Try north and east first, as it is unlikely they’d go west for fear of meeting us. Report to headquarters.’ The men hurried away. ‘Now, a telephone,’ continued the Inspector. ‘Perhaps you’d let me use your quay office one.’ They walked to the office, and Mr. Avery arranged for him to get the private instrument in the manager’s room. He rejoined the others in a few minutes. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘that’s all we can do in the meantime. A description of the men and cart will be wired round to all the stations immediately, and every constable in London will be on the look-out for them before very much longer.’ ‘Very good that,’ said the managing director. The Inspector looked surprised. ‘Oh no,’ he said, ‘that’s the merest routine. But now I’m here I would like to make some other inquiries. Perhaps you would tell your people that I’m acting with your approval, as it might make them give their information more willingly.’ Mr. Avery called over Huston, the manager. ‘Huston, this is Inspector Burnley of Scotland Yard. He is making some inquiries about that cask you already heard of. I’ll be glad if you see that he is given every facility.’ He turned to the Inspector. ‘I suppose there’s nothing further I can do to help you? I should be glad to get back to the City again, if possible.’ ‘Thank you, Mr. Avery, there’s nothing more. I’ll cruise round here a bit. I’ll let you know how things develop.’ ‘Right. Good-bye then, in the meantime.’