“Wait a minute,” said Blick. The people who had got out of the express were coming from the exits; he moved out of their way. “You’ve no idea what time he went out?” he asked, glancing at Pegge. “I’ve no idea,” replied Pegge. “I did hear that he went to bed at his usual time, but——” He paused. Grimsdale had come bustling up and was tapping Blick’s elbow. Blick turned quickly. Grimsdale pointed to a tall man who had just emerged from the station and stood at its principal entrance looking about him. “There!” said Grimsdale. “That man! That’s him—the man who came to the Sceptre on Monday night—the American!” At that moment the tall man caught sight of Grimsdale, started, smiled, nodded, and came hastily across. “Hello, landlord!” he said. “The very man I was waiting to see! Say!—how’s this affair about Guy Markenmore going on? I’ve travelled all night to reach this city so that I could tell about things—never heard of it myself till yesterday evening, right down at Falmouth! Have they laid hands on anybody?” Grimsdale was looking from the stranger to Blick, and Blick hastened to speak. “Are you the man with whom Guy Markenmore had supper at the Sceptre last Monday midnight?” he asked abruptly. “The man who booked a room there and never occupied it?” “I am that man,” replied the stranger, with a ready nod and smile. “No other!” “Do you mind telling me who you are?” asked Blick. “And what you are?” “I do not! My name is Edward Lansbury, and I’m a financier, with businesses in New York and in London. Who are you and what’s your business?” “Detective-Sergeant Blick, of the Criminal Investigation Department, New Scotland Yard! I have this case in hand, Mr. Lansbury, and I’ll be glad if you’ll tell me what you know about it.” “Sure! Everything! That’s what I’ve run up from Falmouth for. Where’ll we talk?” “Come this way,” said Blick. The plain-clothes men had come up behind him; he turned and whispered to them, and they went away in the direction of the police-station. “Don’t wait for me, Grimsdale,” he continued. “I shall be detained here for some time, so you can go back at once.” But Grimsdale brought a hand out of his pocket, offering something to Lansbury. “Your change, sir,” he said. “Three pound fourteen. Bill was twenty-six shillings, sir.” Lansbury started, laughed, took the money, and handed some of the silver back. “Guess I’d forgotten all about that!” he said. “Here!—get yourself a drink.” “Thought you had, sir,” remarked Grimsdale, phlegmatic as ever. “Thank you, sir.” He went over to his trap and drove off, and Blick signed to his companion to follow him towards the Chief Constable’s office. “I’m truly thankful you came, Mr. Lansbury,” he said, as they walked up the street. “Everything’s in more or less of a fog about this affair!”