Of one thing Labar was sure. Momentary though his glimpse of the girl in the car had been, he had no doubt that it was Penelope Noelson. He did not make that kind of mistake. Of course, coincidences do happen. But those trained in the school of Scotland Yard are sceptical about coincidence. It was asking too much to suppose that the singular episode of the morning was entirely unassociated with the raid. It was but a question of how deeply the girl was involved. Was she an accomplice or merely a tool? She was not a professional thief. That much was certain. Why had she tried to bribe him? If Larry Hughes was at the bottom of the business--and he felt as certain of that as that the sun would rise and set--in what way were the girl and he associated? With these questions stirring in his mind, he decided that it would be unwise to make any hasty move. There was, in fact, nothing very definite to act upon. He had debated with himself whether he ought to detain Penelope. He had small fear that she would get away from the surveillance he had placed upon her, but she might gum up the trail a bit. To hold her in present circumstances would, perhaps, be considered a little bit arbitrary, and anyway, Gertstein might kick up a fuss. It was quite simple to keep an eye upon her until the ground under foot was a little more solid. So he made his way back to Grape Street. His emissaries were scouring London, and their reports had to be collated--whether for his own use or for the man who might be detached from headquarters, was on the lap of the gods. He considered as he puffed at his cigarette. These reports now--why should he worry unduly about them if another man was to handle the case? If it was his own work, of course he would have to do it. But why worry until he was certain. He put a call through to Scotland Yard. Winter was more genial than he had been at the early morning interview. "That you, Labar? How are things making out? You'll have to hump yourself on this job, my mannie." That was all right, then. For the time being at any rate he was not to be superseded on the investigation. That had looked a probability when the heads had left him to it at Streetly House. This, however, made certain. He answered cheerfully. "I'll do my best, sir; I've got hopes." "Hopes won't carry you far. I've seen hopes land a man in a ditch." "Oh, I'm not running ahead of myself. As you saw, it's a slick clean-up, but I've got an idea that if Larry's in it he's made a break this time." "H'm. Other men have thought that," grunted the telephone, sceptically. "If there's a hole in this it's not like friend Larry. So don't go running away with any hasty impressions, my boy. And listen, I don't want to know too much--especially over the 'phone. You and I will have a talk some time. G'bye."