“It’s an open question yet, sir—my time theory isn’t burst yet—not definitely, though it looks as if I should have my work cut out to prove it. That’s the trouble; the proof lies with me, not with him.” Within five minutes Parlett returned, to report that Gyne knew nothing of the incident—it must have been Buntle who brought the message. Gyne, however, remembered Captain Wraile having tea in the smoking-room at close on six one day about that time—had said something to him about it’s being so late but he’d had no lunch. Gyne was interviewed and was able to fix the date as after 19th October because he had been ill for a week before that, and not within the last week or two—he was sure of that. On reference to his book Parlett was able to say that 24th October was the only day since the club had re-opened after its annual cleaning that Captain Wraile had come in before dinner-time. That seemed to fix Gyne’s recollection to 24th October—not an important contribution in any case. Parlett reported that he expected Buntle back on duty at 3 p. m. the following afternoon. Poole rose to leave but the Secretary detained him. “How long do you go on working, Inspector?” he asked when Parlett had left. “All night?” Poole laughed. “No, sir; not always. As a matter of fact I shall knock off now; nothing more I can usefully do tonight.” “I wish you’d take pity on a lonely man and come and dine with me—not here—too near our work. It would be a treat to me to have a yarn with someone who isn’t a stereotyped soldier or sailor.” Poole was more than delighted to fall in with the suggestion and the two men spent a pleasant evening, dining at Pisotto’s in Greek Street and, after a leisurely meal strung out by much reminiscent conversation, turning in at the Avenue Pavilion to see the revival of one of Stroheim’s early masterpieces. It was twelve o’clock before Poole got into his bed in Battersea—tired, but much refreshed by his evening’s relaxation.