That a millionaire of Gyde’s somewhat dubious moral character should have a second house in London, the address of which was not printed on his visiting cards, was not at all an out-of-the-way fact. Yet one might have thought he would have chosen a more cheerful neighbourhood than Howland Street. About the middle of the thoroughfare the cab drew up. “That is the place, sir,” said the man, pointing to a gaunt, grimy-looking house standing by one that had been new painted. “That is the house, if I’m not very much mistaken.” “Wait for me,” said Freyberger. He knocked at the door. The door, the knocker, the bell-pulls, all were in the last stage of neglect, an old rug hung over the area railings and a milk can stood on the step. The door opened after he had knocked several times and rung twice. “Are you the landlady?” asked Freyberger of the unwashed and wilted-looking woman who obeyed the summons. “I am.” “May I come in and speak to you for a moment?” “No, you don’t,” said the woman. “If you’re after Mr Tidmus he’s gone away, and won’t be back, goodness knows when. What’s your business?” “I’m after no one especially. I wish to ask you a question which you will be pleased to answer me, for I am a detective from Scotland Yard, Inspector Freyberger. A gentleman called here last night some time between half-past twelve and one; he let himself in with a latchkey. He was a bearded man, wearing a tall hat and carrying a bag. What do you know about him?” “Well, to be sure,” said the woman, in an interested voice. “And what’s he been doing?” “I think we had better come in and I will explain things, thank you—” She let him enter, closed the door and led him into a dingy parlour. “What he has been doing is neither here nor there. I want to know about him. Does he live here?” “No,” replied the landlady. “If he’s the man you mean he came here with a letter from Mr Kolbecker asking me to let him use Mr Kolbecker’s room for the night.” “Ah!” “Somewhere about ten to one it was. I’d been sitting up waiting for Mr Giles. He plays the trombone at the Gaiety and mostly comes home late and not to be trusted with candles. “I hears a latchkey fumbling and I comes into the passage, and there was a gentleman such as you name.