“Mr. Lander, sir? No, I don’t think he is in. I’ll get through to his room.” “Don’t touch that telephone!” said the inspector, “I am an officer of the police. Show me to his room.” The man hesitated the fraction of a second and then: “If you monkey with the switch-board I’ll put you where the rats won’t bite you,” said Carver sharply. “Come out of that!” The man obeyed sulkily. “I’ve done no wrong,” he said, “I was only trying to--” “Watch this man,” said Carver. “Now give me the key of Lander’s room.” The man took down a key from the hook and threw it on the counter. Rex Lander’s suite was empty as Carver had expected. “I want a thorough search made of these rooms,” he said to the sergeant. “I will leave you a man to help you. All stations must be maintained until they are withdrawn. He may come in late.” He waited for half-an-hour inside the hall but though there was a constant procession of cars and cabs laden with people returning from the theatres, there was no sight of Rex Lander. The hall porter became informative. “I’ve got a wife and three children. I don’t want to get into any trouble. What do you want Mr. Lander for?” “I’ll not tell you,” said Carver curtly. “If it is anything very serious I know nothing about it,” said the porter. “I might as well tell you that I did him a favour the other night.” “Last night was it?” “Yes. He was in the hall when somebody telephoned through for him, and he asked me to keep them waiting whilst he went up to his room. He told me it was a lady friend that he wasn’t on good terms with. That’s all I know about it. He is a very nice man,” he added in justification. “A perfect peach,” agreed Carver sardonically. “Well?” One of the men he had left to search the room was coming hurriedly across the lounge. He drew Carver aside and produced from his pocket a long-barrelled revolver of an old-fashioned make. “We found this in one of the drawers,” he said. Carver examined it curiously. The moment he saw it he knew what it was, even before he found the Chinese characters engraved on the steel of the butt. “I thought so,” he said. “It is a Chinese issue, the sort they served out to their army officers about twelve years ago. I think you’ll find it was the property of Trasmere.” He snapped it open. It was fully loaded, containing four live and two used cartridges. “Keep that carefully apart. Wrap it in paper and have it photographed for finger-prints,” he ordered. “You found nothing else?” “There’s a receipted bill from Burbidges for a sapphire ring,” said the man and Carver smiled faintly. The present which Rex had bought “in Rome” for his friend had been purchased within a few miles of Doughty Street and was intended to emphasise the fact that Rex was abroad. It was nearing twelve o’clock when a ’phone message came through from police headquarters, and Carver went to the instrument. “Is that you, Mr. Carver--Mayfield is burning--the brigade have just had a call.”