"Don't interrupt. It seems like millions anyway. But among the letters sent to me was one that seems to me to show interesting possibilities. It was anonymous, of course." He pulled an envelope out of his pocket. "Postmarked E.C. 4. That doesn't help much. One of the busiest postal districts in the city. Typewritten on cheap paper. 'If you want to get to the bottom of the job you're on, ask Mrs. G. if she has managed to pay her bookmaker's accounts yet.' What do you think of that, Moreland? 'Mrs. G.' is Mrs. Gertstein I suppose. She's a lady I haven't seen yet. Been away, country house visiting or something." The anonymous letter is not infrequently a factor in detective work, however inconsiderable its value may be in the ordinary commerce of society. Men and women--particularly women--will betray secretly from many motives. What those motives may be it is seldom worth while to inquire. Moreland fingered the letter. "Somebody willing to knife the lady in the back. May be nothing in it." "May be. I'm not saying till I've looked into it. But, on the face of it, it fits in. This girl--Penelope Noelson--is holding something back. She's a friend of the Gertstein woman. If Mrs. Gertstein has outrun the constable, and daren't let her husband know, why shouldn't she scrawl a cheque in his name? Then she gets scared and tries first to bribe me through Miss Noelson, and then to lay me out. She's supposed to be out of London, and naturally I shouldn't think of her as being in the shemozzle." The Flying Squad man shook his head dubiously. "Sounds fair. But she may be up against it with the bookies, and still outside this. Why couldn't this be a plant on the part of Miss Noelson? That seems more likely to me. Just a ruse to throw you off her track for a while. Don't get too subtle. Stick to what's in front of your face." "The old safety first plan, eh? That comes well from a man who's got a bullet wound and a knife mark through interfering too closely with race gangs. No, old chap, if I'm to come out top in this fight with Larry Hughes, I've got to do some guessing, right or wrong. I've seen Penelope Noelson. You haven't. If she's a real crook she's darned clever. But----" "'But----'" mimicked Moreland. "Oh la-la. No, I've not seen her, but she's too good looking and sweet and innocent to be a crook. Oh, Harry. Here, ease up!" Labar had his strong sinewy fingers round the back of his friend's neck and was grinding his nose to the blotting pad. "I take it all back. Let go, you long slob. You're a great man. You're right. You've got us all skinned!" The other released his hold and Moreland explored the nape of his neck gingerly. "You're a heavy-handed son of a gun," he complained. "Can't you take a joke?" "Why, yes. Couldn't you hear me laugh?" said Labar.