Beneath his ironic tone there was something more serious. His alert mind had hit upon the very reason of Labar's visit. The inspector had taken a chance, partly because he wished to see what Larry was like in person, partly to try and scare the man into some hasty and incautious step. The bigger men at the Yard would scarcely have approved of the attempt, but Labar had not consulted them. He had acted upon an impulse, and he had realised that he was courting failure--though his mind had not turned to the grotesque and humiliating failure that now seemed probable. After all, failure in this point was to have been expected. He had seen for himself what type of man Larry was. That at least was something gained. Nor could it matter in the least that Larry now knew definitely that he was suspected. That he would know in any event, and the interview could make no difference. He felt himself a little nearer to probing the relationship between this sleek, gibing crook, and Penelope, but still he was far away from anything definite. "You're like all the rest of them," he said. "You know it all." He levelled a forefinger. "You've got away with it so far, Larry Hughes. I'll not deny that you've got brains. But you've got vanity, and that's where you'll come a cropper. You may swizzle me, as you have others, but in the end it isn't me you're up against. It's Scotland Yard, it's Mulberry Street, it's the Sûreté. It's every police officer you may pass from here to Timbuctoo. You can't fight men, money and organisation all the time. Think a bit." There lurked a humorous twitch at the corner of Larry Hughes' lips, and there was less cynicism there. "Tell me, did you ever hear of a fox-hunter giving up because he might break his neck? If I were a criminal, it's just conceivable that I might like the game for its own sake." "Then I hope you break your neck," retorted Labar with asperity. "I'll give you a case in point. When you let amateurs into this bust you slipped a cog. I've had Penelope Noelson under observation for the last eighteen hours, and to-day, she'll be placed under detention. And I rather fancy she'll talk." The smiling nonchalance of Larry Hughes vanished. He flung cigarette and amber holder with an impatient gesture into the grate, and advanced a step, with clenched hands. "Don't be a damned fool, man," he snarled. "That girl has no more concern with the robbery than the man in the moon. She's white. The whole thing is pure silliness. What have you got against her?" "Not a thing. She only tried to bribe me yesterday. She only changed a forged cheque on the Midland Bank. She only tried to sandbag me last night. She only denied that she had ever heard of you, and now I find her photograph in your private room. Oh, I've not a thing to hold her on."