That afternoon Inspector Whyland wrote in his report: “I had a long interview with Ludgrove. He is a shrewd fellow, and not easy to get anything out of. I am pretty sure that he has no definite knowledge on this matter, but he admits himself that some of his customers are not above petty crime, and it seems to me that he is the most likely man to hear any underground rumours that may be flying about. “I managed to convey to him a pretty broad hint that I suspected one of his friends. I did this with a double motive. On the one hand, if he thinks that Copperdock or one of the others had anything to do with it, he will probably pass the hint on, and somebody may try to make a bolt for it, which would give them away. On the other hand, if he is convinced of their innocence, he will be all the more anxious to pass on to me any information he may get and which may tend to clear them. It is just a chance, but it may lead to something useful.” The inspector’s strategy was indeed that of forlorn hope. Rack his brains as he would, interrogate as he might everyone who could possibly throw light upon the murder of Richard Pargent, he found himself up against a stone wall. Nobody could swear to having seen and recognized the victim from the time he entered the train at West Laverhurst until he had been seen to stagger and fall on the refuge in Praed Street. The ticket collector at Reading was almost positive about him, but, as he explained, he saw so many passengers in the course of his day’s work that he could not be sure of any particular one, unless there was something very remarkable about him or her. All he knew for sure was that if this was the gentleman, he was alone in the carriage when the train left Reading. Nobody at Paddington had noticed him among the streams flowing from the arrival platforms, and it was impossible to establish whether or not he had left the station alone. The taxi-driver who had seen him fall had not seen the blow struck, could not even say whether anyone else had been standing on the refuge with him or not. It was a nasty, skiddy evening, and dark at that. He had enough to do to watch the traffic without worrying about people on refuges. It wasn’t until he had seen the poor man stagger into the road almost under his front wheels that he had even noticed him. And then his attention was fully occupied in pulling up and trying to avoid collisions.