Mr Matthews had followed Leonard on foot to the Ritz. Mr Quillian had tracked him to a desperate hostelry in the far north of London. Major Byles had pursued him to an hotel in Wimbledon. They ascertained that he spent a night at each one of these three places, but they added nothing else to their knowledge of him. Sir Charles Bunford had been no more successful, but he had a curious story to tell. He had met Leonard by chance in St James’s Street one night at half-past eleven. There was nothing in Leonard’s dress or bearing that suggested anything less than complete independence. Sir Charles felt certain that he himself had not been recognised, turned, and followed him. ‘He led me,’ Sir Charles recounted, ‘up through the squares to Oxford Street, where he turned west. Just then there came shuffling along in the gutter towards us a street-vendor with a tray of little toys slung from his shoulders. He gave me the impression of an old man. Leonard and he both stopped. I also stopped, making a pretence of lighting a cigarette. They were both in the full light of a street lamp, and I had a close view of them. Leonard picked up from the tray a little monkey of blue plush mounted on a pin. Deliberately and without a smile he stuck the monkey in the gutter-merchant’s battered bowler. Then he took out his notecase, produced a fiver, and spread it on the tray, and walked on. During this curious incident neither of the men spoke. As you may imagine, I tackled the street-vendor at once. ‘“You’re in luck,” I said. “Did you know that customer?” ‘He folded his fiver and slipped it into an inner pocket. He looked at me shrewdly, and I noticed that his eyes were young. His voice when he spoke was quite young. And it was the voice of an educated man too. ‘“Which of us,” he said, “can say that he knows the other—or even that he knows himself?” ‘“Come,” I said. “I think you can tell me what I want to know. And two fivers are better than one.” ‘“That is so—to some people at some times—but not to Mr William Bunting, the editor of _The Pig-Keepers’ Friend_, at this time. I will wish you good-night, Sir Charles.” ‘And he walked off briskly without a trace of the old slouch. How he knew my name I can’t tell you, for certainly Leonard, even if he knew I was following, never said a word to him. The man left me staggered. I rushed off again after Leonard, but I had lost him. That is all I have to tell, and I have given you the facts accurately as they happened. I was both sane and sober at the time—but if you doubt that, upon my word I can’t be surprised.’ The failure was general. Dr Alden had interviewed the proprietor of the hotel, who was most courteous, but, in the doctor’s opinion, lied in his profession of ignorance. Mr Pusely-Smythe got hold of one of the other waiters who appeared perfectly willing to betray anybody on the most moderate terms, but, unfortunately, had no information to impart.