Triffitt had never been within the mazes of New Scotland Yard in his life, and had often wished that business would take him there. It was very soon plain to him, however, that his proprietor knew his way about the Criminal Investigation Department as well as he knew the _Argus_ office. Markledew was quickly closeted with the high official who had seen Mr. Halfpenny and Mr. Tertius a few days previously; while they talked, Triffitt was left to kick his heels in a waiting-room. When he was eventually called in, he found not only the high official and Markledew, but another man whose name was presently given to him as Davidge. "Mr. Davidge," observed the high official, "is in charge of this case. Will you just tell him your story?" It appeared to Triffitt that Mr. Davidge was the least impressionable, most stolid man he had ever known. Davidge showed no sign of interest; Triffitt began to wonder if anything could ever surprise him. He listened in dead silence to all that the reporter had to say; when Triffitt had finished he looked apathetically at his superior. "I think, sir, I will just step round to Mr. Halfpenny's office," he remarked. "Perhaps Mr. Triffitt will accompany me?--then he and I can have a bit of a talk." Triffitt looked at Markledew: Markledew nodded his big head. "Go with him," said Markledew. "Work with him! He knows what he's after." Davidge took Triffitt away to Mr. Halfpenny's office--on the way thither he talked about London fogs, one of which had come down that morning. But he never mentioned the business in hand until--having left Triffitt outside while he went in--he emerged from Mr. Halfpenny's room. Then he took the reporter's arm and led him away, and his manner changed to one of interest and even enthusiasm. "Well, young fellow!" he said, leading Triffitt down the street, "you're the chap I wanted to get hold of!--you're a godsend. And so you really have a flat next to that occupied by the person whom we'll refer to as F. B., eh?" "I have," answered Triffitt, who was full of wonderment. "Good--good!--couldn't be better!" murmured the detective. "Now then--I dare say you'd be quite pleased if I called on you at your flat--quietly and unobtrusively--at say seven o'clock tonight, eh?" "Delighted!" answered Triffitt. "Of course!" "Very good," said Davidge. "Then at seven o'clock tonight I shall be there. In the meantime--not a word. You're curious to know why I'm coming? All right--keep your curiosity warm till I come--I'll satisfy it. Tonight, mind, young man--seven, sharp!" Then he gave Triffitt's arm a squeeze and winked an eye at him, and at once set off in one direction, while the reporter, mystified and inquisitive, turned in another. CHAPTER XXI THE DESERTED FLAT