Mrs. Wraile must have been in position near the Admiralty Arch by 6.25 p. m. at the latest, probably by 6.20 p. m. In a car, it would take her quite 15 minutes to get from Ald House to the Admiralty Arch. She might therefore have left Ald House at 6.5 or 6.10 p. m. That was a significant time: it allowed the remainder of the staff to have left (and supplied her with the first part of her alibi) before she left herself. As for her return, she would probably have dropped her husband somewhere near his alibi (Pall Mall) and driven straight back to Ald House; getting there any time after 6.45. Canting, the hall-porter, had said that she left the building just before he went off duty at 7 p. m. It was a close squeeze, but just possible. How she dodged Canting so as to make him think that was the first time she left the building that evening, had yet to be shown. Now for Captain Wraile. He must have been near the top of the Duke of York’s Steps by about 6.20 p. m. That was, at the most, five minutes’ walk from his club (The Junior Services in Pall Mall) which he must have left at 6.15. If, after the shooting of Fratten, Mrs. Wraile had driven straight up the Mall and turned past Marlborough House into Pall Mall she could have dropped her husband near his club by 6.40. Wraile had, therefore, only to be absent from his club from 6.15 to 6.40 p. m. It remained for Poole to find out whether that could have been done. Having completed his schedule, the detective looked at his watch; it was twenty minutes to seven, a comparatively quiet time at clubs—and the same staff would probably be on duty as were there at the time of Wraile’s alibi for 24th October. Poole put on his hat and coat, walked out into Whitehall, flung himself on to a 53 bus as it gathered way past the Home Office, and was duly dropped as it swung past the Guards Memorial in Waterloo Place. From there it was two minutes’ walk to the Junior Services—at least two minutes to come off Wraile’s danger-period. Poole knew the ways—the excellent ways—of Club servants; they would give him no information whatever concerning their members. He therefore asked for the Secretary and was lucky enough to find him in. Captain Voilance had been a Regular in his young days, had left the army in order to make a living on which to keep a young and attractive wife, had made that living working as a super-shopwalker in a big men’s outfitting store in New York, had thrown up his job in August 1914 in order to re-join his regiment and had lost any chance of recovering it by having his face mutilated by a bomb in the Hohenzollern Redoubt in 1915. Three years of home duty and constant operations had not sapped his courage, but they had sapped his capital, for his pretty wife was bitten by the war fever for restless enjoyment, and when she left him for a better-looking hero in 1918, Voilance found himself with about four hundred pounds, a daughter aged five, and his honourable scars.