Moreland had dashed across the room in time to knock up a pistol, which exploded. To add to the confusion, an agitated Italian waiter had switched the light off. Only such light as could penetrate through the windows from the street illuminations reached the room. There was a chaos of struggling men for a while, and ultimately one wriggled free. Revolver in hand he gained the doorway with the detective in close pursuit. Firing wildly, he fled through a small by-street and through the open door of a house which let cheap rooms. At the top of the narrow stairs he paused, and defied the detectives, who by this time were reinforced by many uniformed police, to come nearer. Moreland had taken charge of affairs and, deciding that it was inadvisable to risk lives by a frontal attack, had left the house with a cordon drawn around it, and after a word with Labar's man had decided to fetch the divisional inspector himself. Most of this he related hurriedly while they were racing towards the scene of the affray as fast as a taxi-cab could take them. Labar had no difficulty in surmising with fair accuracy the blanks in the story. Their cab was halted at the entrance to a narrow street where a belt of uniformed men held back a thin crowd. They descended and pushed their way through, and the detective sergeant who had brought about the episode joined them. "Well, Marr?" said Labar. "I suppose that's Stebbins up there?" He jerked his head to the dismal three-storeyed house where most of the eyes were focussed. "That's the man, sir." "How did you locate him?" In a few quick succinct sentences Marr told how he had tried to gain some information at Streetly House, and been told in the most polite manner that no questions would be answered. Then he had way-laid the servants' entrance and made himself friendly with such of the servants as passed in or out. He learned that on the day of the robbery Stebbins had complained of illness and had gone home. Since then he had not resumed his job at Streetly House, but he was known to be occasionally meeting one of the maids. Marr pressed his inquiries until he found one footman who had been on friendly footing with Stebbins, and who on occasion had been with him to eat at a Soho restaurant which the other frequented. Taking a long chance Marr had induced the footman to accompany him to the restaurant, where as luck would have it they found their man. "Lucky for you that Mr. Moreland was there," commented Labar. "He was fighting drunk, sir," explained the sergeant. "Drunk or sober, we can't wait here all night," declared the inspector. "Find out if there's a skylight to the place. If so, two or three men had better try to get through other houses and take him from the rear. I'm going to see whether he's in a mood to talk to. We can't have one man hold us up like this." "You're not going up those stairs, Harry," said Moreland. "It's sheer suicide."