"That depends. Try and 'phone me here about five o'clock. But if you are otherwise engaged let the telephone go. Should Fenley seem to leave London by the Edgware Road, which leads to Roxton, have him checked on the way. Here is the number of his cycle," and Winter jotted a memorandum on the back of an envelope. "What about Mr. Furneaux if I am called out almost immediately?" "Give the message to Johnston." Then Winter hurried away, and, repressing the inclination to hail a taxi, walked up Whitehall and crossed Trafalgar Square _en route_ to the Shaftesbury Avenue address supplied by the Assistant Commissioner. He found a sharp-featured youth in charge of the telephone, which was lodged in an estate agent's office. The boy grinned when the Superintendent explained his errand. "Excuse _me_," he said, with the pert assurance of the born Cockney, "but we aren't allowed to give information about customers." "You've broken your rules already, young man," said Winter. "You answered a similar inquiry made by Scotland Yard some hours since." "Oh, was _that_ it? Gerrard rang me up, and I thought there was something funny going on. Are you from Scotland Yard, sir?" Winter proffered a card, and the boy's eyes opened wide. "Crikey!" he said. "I've read about you, sir. Well, I've been doing a bit of detective work of my own. At lunch time I strolled past the set of flats where I thought the lady lived, and had the luck to see her getting out of a cab at the door. I followed her upstairs, pretending I had business somewhere, and saw her go into No. Eleven. Her name is Miss Eileen Garth--at least, that's the name opposite No. Eleven in the list in the hall." "When you're a bit older you'll make a detective," said Winter. "You've learned the first trick of the job, and that is to keep your eyes open. Now, to encourage you, I'll tell you the second. Keep your mouth shut. If this lady is Miss Garth she is not the person we want, but it would annoy her if she heard the police were inquiring about her; so here is half a crown for your trouble." "Can I do anything else for you, sir?" came the eager demand. "Nothing. I'm on the wrong scent, evidently, but you have saved me from wasting time. This Miss Eileen Garth is English, of course?" "Yes, sir; very good-looking, but rather snappy." Winter sighed. "That just shows how easy it is to blunder," he said. "I'm looking for a Polish Jewess, whose chief feature is her nose, and who wears big gold earrings." "Oh, Miss Garth is quite different," said the disappointed youth. "She's tall and slim--a regular dasher, big black hat, swell togs, black and white, and smart boots with white spats. She wore pearls in her ears, too, because I noticed 'em." Winter sighed again. "Another half day lost," he murmured, and went out.