He did not trouble to make an examination of the room, or of the remainder of the maisonette he rented. If the police had been, they had been. If they had not, it did not matter. They could find nothing. He had a good conscience, so far as a man’s conscience may be good who fears less for the consequence of his deeds than for the apparent, the obvious and the discoverable consequences. He rang a bell, and after a little delay an old woman answered the call. “Make me some tea, Mrs. Skard,” he said. “Has anybody called?” The old woman looked up to the ceiling for inspiration. “Only the man about the gas,” she said. “Only the man about the gas,” repeated George Wallis admiringly. “Wasn’t he awfully surprised to find that we didn’t have gas at all?” The old lady looked at him in some amazement. “He did say he had come to see about the gas,” she said, “and then when he found we had no gas he said ‘electricity’--a most absent-minded young man.” “They are that way, Mrs. Skard,” said her master tolerantly; “they fall in love, don’t you know, round about this season of the year, and when their minds become occupied with other and more pleasant thoughts than gas mantles and incandescent lights they become a little confused. I suppose he did not bother you--he told you you need not wait?” he suggested. “Quite right, sir,” said Mrs. Skard. “He said he would do all he had to do without assistance.” “And I will bet you he did it,” said George Wallis with boisterous good humour. Undisturbed by the knowledge that his rooms had been searched by an industrious detective, he sat for an hour reading an American magazine. At six o’clock a taxi-cab drove into the street and pulled up before the entrance of his flat. The driver, a stoutish man with a beard, looked helplessly up and down seeking a number, and one of the two detectives who had been keeping observation on the house walked across the road casually towards him. “Do you want to find a number, mate?” he asked. “I want No. 43,” said the cabman. “That’s it,” said the officer. He saw the cabman ring, and having observed that he entered the door, which was closed behind him, he walked back to his co-worker. “George is going to take a little taxi drive,” he said; “we will see where he goes.” The man who had waited on the other side of the road nodded. “I don’t suppose he will go anywhere worth following, but I have the car waiting round the corner.” “I’ll car him,” said the second man bitterly. “Did you hear what he told Inspector Whitling of the City Police about me last night?” The first detective was considerably interested. “No, I should like to hear.” “Well,” began the man, and then thought better of it. It was nothing to his credit that he should keep a man under observation three hours, and that the quarry should be aware all the time that he was being watched. “Hullo!” he said as the door of No. 43 opened, “here is our man.”