It was at this moment that Detective Inspector Labar rang the bell at the solid Georgian doorway of Mr. Larry Hughes' Hampstead home. With suave candour the footman who opened the door, informed him of the exact position. Mr. Hughes was in his bath. If the gentleman would care to wait he would find out in due course whether Mr. Hughes would see him. Was the gentleman a friend, or if not was his business of extreme urgency? Mr. Hughes, he knew, had several important engagements. Labar thrust a card into the man's hand. "Tell him I shall be glad if he will spare me a few minutes of his time. It is of importance." A little doubtfully the servant took the card. So the detective found himself in a big leather chair in a spacious and well-lighted library. All the surroundings spoke of money lavished recklessly, but with scrupulous taste. The lines of books were broken by etchings and occasional paintings that Labar recognised as the finest of their kind. But as he slowly and methodically studied the room, his attention became rivetted on a small photograph that stood obscurely on a mantel-piece. He moved towards it and picked it up for closer scrutiny. Then he did a thing which a C.I.D. man should have realised was pure and simple theft. He placed it carefully in an inside pocket. Hughes found him in the big leather chair, idly nursing his hat and stick, and came forward with outstretched hand. "It's Mr. Labar, isn't it. Pleased to meet you. I'm not often honoured by visits from detective inspectors. What can I do for you?" He drew up another divan chair and faced Labar idly attentive. He was Mr. Larry Hughes, gentleman of means, and Labar was a mere policeman in plain clothes. The suggestion was subtle but plain. Both men knew how artificial the situation was. It was clear to Larry that the other had come to look him over, but whatever the detective inspector suspected he dare not yet shatter the pose. Labar knew that he was a crook, and Hughes knew that he knew. Yet the latter was supremely confident that no one dare breathe the word. What proof could there be? Labar for the time was quite willing to play the part the other had allotted to him. "I'm not quite sure, Mr. Hughes," he said with a hint of deference in his tone. "I've come to see you because I believe you have some acquaintance with Mr. Gertstein. You will have seen in the papers that there has been a robbery at his place." Larry raised his eyebrows and struggled with well-manicured fingers to affix a cigarette in a long amber holder. "I'm afraid you've come to the wrong shop, Mr. Labar. I know the old boy by sight but I've scarcely spoken to him. True, I believe I was introduced to Mrs. Gertstein once--I think it was at Ascot--but that's the limit of my knowledge of the family." "I'm looking up everyone who might by some remote chance throw some light on the affair," explained Labar. "Quite." Hughes was listlessly polite.