All through the afternoon information continued to come in, and when he had added the items to his skeleton time-table he found that he had learnt where thirty-one rings had been bought and where Roper had lunched on each of the three days in question. Of course, this information did not directly help with his present problem, but there were two other items of news which seemed more promising. The first was that seven of the thirty-one shop assistants who had been interviewed had noticed a fresh cut on Roper’s thumb, small, but peculiarly shaped. This was an additional identification which might be useful in dealing with waiters, dining-car attendants, hotel porters and others who would be likely to observe a customer’s hand. The second item French received with deep satisfaction. Roper had spent the Tuesday night at the Strand Palace Hotel. This seemed to negative the suggestion that the man was living in London, and French therefore became much more hopeful of the prospects of finding his whereabouts on the Thursday night, the point at which he must start if he was to succeed in tracing him. But it was not until the next afternoon that his hopes were fulfilled. When he reached the Yard after lunch he found that a telephone message had just been received from Sergeant Elliott, who was working the hotels in the Bloomsbury area. Roper, the man reported, had spent the Thursday night at the Peveril Hotel in Russell Square. Within twenty minutes French had reached the building. Sergeant Elliott was waiting for him in the lounge. “How did you get on to him?” French asked, after they had greeted each other heartily and withdrawn into a quiet corner. “Just pegging away, sir; no special clue. This is the sixteenth hotel I’ve been to. But I think there’s no doubt it’s him. He turned up here about 7.15 on Thursday evening and asked for a room. On the plea of having a chill he had a fire in his room and dined there. Next morning he paid his bill to the waiter and left about 9.45.” “Did he take a taxi?” “Not from the hotel, sir. He just walked out, carrying a small suitcase in his hand.” “Wasn’t taking any risks. Confound him for giving us all this trouble. See Elliott, you look round and get hold of the men who were on point duty hereabouts on Friday morning. Some of them may have noticed him. Then go round to the nearby Tube Stations. I’ll go back to the Yard and get the taxis and the terminal stations worked. You follow me?” “Right, sir. I’ll go now.” French turned to the manager’s office to check his subordinate’s information. There his inquiries speedily convinced him that Roper had indeed stayed in the hotel. It was true that he had registered under the name “Jas. Fulton, Manchester,” but the handwriting set the matter at rest. That it was Roper’s, French had no doubt whatever.