“Tut, tut!” said the prisoner with an affectation of distress, “how very annoying for you Mr. Whitling. I suppose you have got the culprit?” he asked blandly. “I’ve got you at present,” said the calm inspector. “I should not be surprised if I had also got the culprit. Can you explain where you were last night?” “With the greatest of pleasure,” said Wallis; “I was dining with a friend.” “His name?” The other shrugged his shoulders. “His name is immaterial. I was dining with a friend whose name does not matter. Put that down, inspector.” “And where were you dining with this unknown friend?” asked the imperturbable official. Wallis named a restaurant in Wardour Street. “At what hour were you dining?” asked the inspector patiently. “Between the hours of eight and eleven,” said the man, “as the proprietor of the restaurant will testify.” The inspector smiled to himself. He knew the restaurant and knew the proprietor. His testimony would not carry a great deal of weight with a jury. “Have you anybody respectable,” he asked, “who will vouch for the fact that you were there, other than your unknown friend and Signor Villimicci?” Wallis nodded. “I might name, with due respect,” he said, “Sergeant Colebrook, of the Central Investigation Department of Scotland Yard.” He was annoyingly bland. The inspector looked up sharply. “Is he going to vouch for you?” he asked. “He was watching me the whole of the time, disguised, I think, as a gentleman. At least, he was in evening dress, and he was quite different from the waiters. You see, he was sitting down.” “I see,” said the inspector. He put down his pen. “It was rather amusing to be watched by a real detective-sergeant, from that most awe-inspiring wilderness of bricks,” the man continued. “I quite liked it, though I am afraid the poor fellow was bored sooner than I was.” “I understand,” said the inspector, “that you were being watched from eight o’clock last night till----?” He paused inquiringly. “Till near midnight, I should imagine. Until our dress-suited detective, looking tragically like a detective all the time, had escorted me to the front door of my flat.” “I can verify that in a minute,” said the inspector. “Go into the parade room.” Wallis strolled unconcernedly into the inner room whilst the inspector manipulated the telephone. In five minutes the prisoner was sent for. “You’re all right,” said the inspector. “Clean bill for you, Wallis.” “I am glad to hear it,” said Wallis. “Very relieved indeed!” He sighed heavily. “Now that I am embarked upon what I might term a legalised form of thefts from the public, it is especially pleasing to me to know that my actions are approved by the police.” “We don’t approve of everything you do,” said the inspector. He was an annoying man, Wallis thought; he would neither lose his temper nor be rude. “You can go now--sorry to have bothered you.” “Don’t mention it,” said the polite man with a little bow.