The police court proceedings in connection with the gambling-joint in Smike Street had opened satisfactorily so far as the police were concerned. All the prisoners but the principals and those involved in the attack on Heldon Foyle had been subjected to small fines, and were, as the legal phrase goes, "bound over." The remainder had been remanded for a week at the request of the prosecuting solicitor, a half-hearted request for bail being refused. For the first time since he had attained the rank of superintendent, Foyle himself had gone into the witness-box. That was unavoidable, as he was the only man who could give direct evidence of the character of the house. Hitherto he had arranged so that the court work fell on his subordinates while he gave his attention to organisation and administrative detail; for the giving of evidence is only the end of the work of a detective. There are men behind the scenes in most cases that come into the criminal courts who are never told off, happenings never referred to. They are summed up in the phrase "Acting on information received, I----" The business of a detective is to secure his prisoner and give evidence, not to tell how it was done. "Still no news from Liverpool," said the superintendent as he left the court with Green. "I begin to wish I'd sent you down there. That woman has got the knack of vanishing." "Yes," agreed his lieutenant, producing a well-worn brier and pressing the tobacco down with a horny thumb. "And yet people think we've got an easy job. Lola knows her business, and I'm open to bet she'll not be found before she wants to be found." Foyle chuckled at this enunciation of rank heresy. Only a veteran of Green's experience would have dared question the ability of Scotland Yard to maintain a scent once picked up. The superintendent did not take the pessimism too seriously. In theory it is not difficult for one person to disappear among forty millions, but to remain hidden indefinitely, in the face of a vigorous, sustained search by men trained to their business is not so simple in practice. "You've got a habit of looking on the worst side of things," he laughed. "I've never known us want any one we knew badly but what we got 'em at last. Besides, Blake's down there, and he's a good man. He's got a personal interest in running her down now." "H'm," commented Green, in the tone of one not entirely convinced, and lapsed into a stolid silence which would have irritated some men, but merely amused the superintendent. They separated at the door of Foyle's room at headquarters, and an impatient detective-sergeant, whose duty it was to weed out callers, promptly headed Heldon Foyle off. "A man's been waiting to see you, sir," he said. "He refused to give his name, but said he had some important information which he would only give to you personally. He wouldn't hear of seeing any one else."