But the men of the C.I.D. are marvellously efficient and persistent. On returning from lunch on the fifth day, French learned, to his infinite satisfaction, that a taximan whose information might prove valuable had been found and was on his way to the Yard. Ten minutes later an intelligent-looking man in a driver’s uniform was shown in. “Good afternoon,” said French. “You have something to tell me? Just let me have your name and address and then go ahead.” William Service explained that he was the driver of a taxi in the employment of Metropolitan Transport, Ltd. On Monday night, the night in question, he had driven a fare to Euston for the 12.25 express. On leaving the station he was returning through Russell Square to his garage when, near the end of Kepple Street, he was hailed by a man from the sidewalk. He had not wished to take another fare, but the man had offered him an extra five shillings to do so and he had then agreed. The man was of medium height and build and dressed in a fawn coat and soft hat. Service could not describe his features, the brim of his hat being pulled low to meet his upturned collar. He was carrying a largeish suitcase. He desired Service to drive to The Boltons, which, the Inspector probably knew, was an oval with a church not far from Chelsea. (The Inspector knew it and recognised with delight that it was just beside Park Walk). There he was to pick up a lady and to drive them both to a house in Victory Place, not far from the Elephant and Castle. The lady had been waiting. As far as he could see, she answered the Inspector’s description. He had driven both parties to the address mentioned. It was a big house of working-class flats. “Good! You’ve told your story well,” French approved. “Now I want you to drive me to the place. I shall be ready in a moment.” The last lap! A kind of cold excitement took possession of French. It had been a long and troublesome case, but it was over now. Another fine feather in his cap; another step to that somewhat overdue chief-inspectorship for which he had been so long hoping! A few minutes, an hour at most, and the thing would be an accomplished fact. Hastily calling his two assistants, Carter and Harvey, he set off with them for Victory Place. “It’s a big thing, this,” he explained. “There must be no mistake about it. If we let these people slip through our fingers we needn’t go back to the Yard.” They drove to the end of the block containing the house, and, Carter and Harvey remaining in the taxi, French went alone to reconnoitre. He rang at a door in the basement and asked the woman who opened if she could direct him to the caretaker. “My husband’s the caretaker, sir,” she answered, “but he’s out at present. Is it anything I can do?” “Probably you can,” said French, with his most winning smile. “I’m looking for the lady and gentleman who came in on last Monday night. They arrived by a late train and weren’t here till after midnight.”