“I may as well tell you,” said Colson, “that you have been under strict observation for the last few days. But there’s one thing I want to know. When you and your wife came up to London on Sunday morning, apparently you did not go to your house in Brondesbury. We’ve ascertained that you only went there on Monday. Where were you on Sunday night? If you can tell us that, and bring witnesses to prove the truth of it, it will materially help you.” He was, of course, thinking of the incident of the walking-stick. Already he was more than half satisfied with the Jew’s story—it fitted in with his own deductions. But he wanted to make quite sure. For this would help him still more. “No—we didn’t go home,” said Moss, “we were not expected—our two maids at Brondesbury had the week-end off. We went to an hotel and stayed the Sunday night there.” “What hotel?” “The ‘Chester.’” “Will you come with us to the ‘Chester’ now?” asked the superintendent. “We should like to corroborate this statement.” “Certainly—I will come.” “Go down and get a taxi,” said the superintendent to Colson, “and ask Tyler to come with us.” The Jew was putting on his overcoat as Colson left the room; he turned a nervous, inquiring glance on the superintendent. “Tyler is one of our men,” said the latter dryly. “He’s been shadowing you since Monday. I hope,” he added, in a more kindly tone, “to take him back with us to Frattenbury.” Arrived at the “Chester,” the superintendent produced his card and asked to see the manager. A few minutes later they were closeted with him in his private office. “I want you to tell us,” said the superintendent, “whether this gentleman,” and he indicated Moss, “stayed here on Sunday night last.” “The name?” “Moss—Isaac Moss.” “Certainly. Wait here a moment, and I’ll make inquiries.” “I should like to have everything corroborated.” “All right.” The manager returned after a brief interval, bringing with him the booking clerk, the hall porter and a chambermaid. The booking clerk at once recognised Moss, produced his registration signature, and the entry in the book. The chambermaid stated that he and his wife had occupied room number 87. “Can any of you swear—I warn you that it may have to come to that—that Mr. Moss was in the hotel all Sunday night?” “Up to twelve o’clock would be enough,” broke in Colson. “I can do that,” said the hall porter; “at least I know he was here from nine p.m. till midnight. He sat in the lounge most of the time. I saw him writing a letter, which he gave me to post just before he went to bed—a minute or two after twelve. I saw him get into the lift, and said good night to him. I’m quite prepared to swear to this.” “Very well,” said the superintendent, “that’s all I want to know. Can we be alone—my friends and I—for a minute or two?” he asked the manager. “Certainly. Make use of this room. Nothing wrong, I hope, superintendent?” “No—it’s all right.”