A few minutes later, a very surprised and wrathful man was marched into Cannon Row and scientifically searched. Leon had been right about the revolver; it was produced and found to be loaded, and his excuse that he carried the weapon as a protection following upon a recent murder of a cab-driver, had not the backing of the necessary permit. In addition—and this was a more serious offence—he held no permit from Scotland Yard to ply for hire on the streets, and his badge was the property of another man. “Put him inside,” said Meadows, and went back to report to the waiting Leon. “You’ve hit the bull’s-eye first time. I don’t know whether he will be of any use to us, but I don’t despise even the smallest fish.” Whilst he was waiting, Leon had been engaged in some quick thinking. “The man has been at Greenwich lately. One of my men saw him there twice, and I needn’t say that he was driving Oberzohn.” “I’ll talk to him later and telephone you,” said Meadows, and Leon Gonsalez went back to Curzon Street, one large smile. “You have merely exchanged a spy you know for a spy you don’t know,” said George Manfred, “though I never question these freakish acts of yours, Leon. So often they have a trick of turning up trumps. By the way, the police are raiding the Gringo Club in the Victoria Dock Road to-night, and they may be able to pick up a few of Mr. Oberzohn’s young gentlemen who are certain to be regular users of the place.” The telephone bell rang shrilly, and Leon took up the receiver, and recognized Meadows’ voice. “I’ve got a queer story for you,” said the inspector immediately. “Did he talk?” asked the interested Leon. “After a while. We took a finger-print impression, and found that he was on the register. More than that, he is a ticket-of-leave man. As an ex-convict we can send him back to finish his unexpired time. I promised to say a few words for him, and he spilt everything. The most interesting item is that Oberzohn is planning to be married.” “To be married? Who is this?” asked Manfred, in surprise. “Oberzohn?” Leon nodded. “Who is the unfortunate lady?” asked Leon. There was a pause, and then: “Miss Leicester.” Manfred saw the face of his friend change colour, and guessed. “Does he know when?” asked Leon in a different voice. “No. The licence was issued over a week ago, which means that Oberzohn can marry any morning he likes to bring along his bride. What’s the idea, do you think?” “Drop in this evening and either I or George will tell you,” said Leon. He put the telephone on the hook very carefully. “That is a danger I had not foreseen, although it was obviously the only course Oberzohn could take. If he marries her, she cannot be called in evidence against him. May I see the book, George?” Manfred unlocked the wall safe and brought back a small ledger. Leon Gonsalez turned the pages thoughtfully. “Dennis—he has done good work for us, hasn’t he?” he asked.