“In fact, we’ve turned the old flat into a shooting gallery,” said Tab, “and Carver wonders whether you have had a similar experience.” “Not I,” was the cheerful reply. “It is as much as a man’s life’s worth to wake me out of my sleep.” Tab grinned. “Keep your door locked.” “And my telephone receiver off,” said the other. “I’ll let you know if anything happens. Is Carver there?” “Yes,” said Tab. Carver went to the ’phone. “He wants to speak to you.” Carver had made a signal and now he took the receiver in his hand. “I am sorry you have been disturbed, Mr. Lander,” he said, “but I’d like you to know officially that we warn you that an attempt has been made to get into this flat at--well ten minutes ago. What time would that be?” “That would be about a quarter of two, I guess,” said Rex’s voice. “Thank you for telling me, Inspector, but I am not at all scared.” Carver put the receiver on the hook and rubbed his hands. “Do you think they will go there? What on earth is amusing you?” asked Tab irritably. “I am intensely amused, I admit,” said Carver, “at the queer and simple error that our murderer made.” Early in the morning Carver called at the Pitt Hotel and personally interviewed a sleepy-eyed Rex, who sat up in bed in violently striped pyjamas and expostulated with commendable mildness upon the interruption to his night’s sleep. “I am one of those people,” he said severely, “who require at least twelve hours’ heavy slumber. Heaven having endowed me with the means whereby I can gratify my wishes in this respect, it is a little short of an outrage that Tab and you should call me up even to tell me that the flat has been burgled again.” Reporting his interview on his return to the flat, Carver offered a few remarks on the vagaries of masculine fashions, particularly in relation to pyjamas, and came back at a tangent to the very serious events of the past twelve hours. “I think you’ll be all right tonight,” he said. “At any rate, I am leaving you to your own devices. Bolt the door and put a trip wire between a couple of chairs.” “Oh nonsense!” said Tab. “He will not come again tonight.” Carver scratched his chin. “What is tonight.” “Saturday.” “The fatal Saturday eh?” he said. “No, perhaps not. What are you doing today?” “I am driving a friend into the country, or rather she is driving me,” said Tab promptly. “It is my week-end off, but I shall be back in town tonight.” Carver nodded. “Ring me up the moment you are back. Will you promise that?” And Tab laughed. “Certainly I will if it is any satisfaction to you.” “If you don’t ring me, I shall ring you at intervals throughout the night,” threatened Carver. “I have already warned Lander. Above all, Lander must not sleep at this flat.” “Don’t you think that by now they will have discovered that he is no longer living in the flat?” asked Tab.