“In his flat, and in bed I trust at this hour,” said the bearded man virtuously. With this the inspector had to be content. To make absolutely sure, he went back to the house off Charing Cross Road, and found, as he feared, Mr. George Wallis, if not in bed, at least in his dressing-gown, and the end of his silk pyjamas flapped over his great woollen slippers. “My dear good chap,” he expostulated wearily, “am I never to be left in quiet? Must the unfortunate record which I bear still pursue me, penitent as I am, and striving, as I may be, to lead that unoffending life which the State demands of its citizens?” “Do not make a song about it, George,” grumbled Goldberg. “You have kept me busy all the night looking after you. Where have you been?” “I have been to a picture palace,” said the calm man, “observing with sympathetic interest the struggles of a poor but honest bank clerk to secure the daughter of his rich and evil boss. I have been watching cow-boys shooting off their revolvers and sheriffs galloping madly across plains. I have, in fact, run through the whole gamut of emotions which the healthy picture palace excites.” “You talk too much,” said the inspector. He did not waste any further time, and left Mr. Wallis stifling a sleepy yawn; but the door had hardly closed behind the detective when Wallis’s dressing-gown was thrown aside, his pyjamas and woollen slippers discarded, and in a few seconds the man was fully dressed. From the front window he saw the little knot of detectives discussing the matter, and watched them as they moved slowly to the end of the street. There would be a further discussion there, and then one of them would come back to his vigil; but before they had reached the end of the street he was out of the house and walking rapidly in the opposite direction to that which they had taken. He had left a light burning to encourage the watcher. He must take his chance about getting back again without being observed. He made his way quickly in the direction of the tube station, and a quarter of an hour later, by judicious transfers, he was in the vicinity of Hampstead. He walked down the hill towards Belsize Park and picked up a taxi-cab. He had stopped at the station to telephone, and had made three distinct calls. Soon after eleven he was met at Chalk Farm Station by his two confederates. Thereafter all trace was lost of them. So far, in a vague and unsatisfactory way, Inspector Goldberg had kept a record of Wallis’s movements that night. He had to guess much, and to take something on trust, for the quarry had very cleverly covered his tracks.