"He's shadowing Hickson—the man you saw this afternoon. At the moment they are both in an eating-house at the corner of Westbourne Street and the Pimlico Road. Go there in a taxi. Wait till Hickson comes out, and then run across him casually in the street. Recognise him and say you're going off duty. Get into conversation, if you can, but don't let him suspect you. Tell him you gave me his note and you don't think it's much use his coming back here. Say you overheard me remark to Mr. Bathgate here that I thought he was a bit touched and that we've got the right man. Say I told you to tell him I couldn't see him if he came back. I want him to think I'm quite uninterested in him and his information. He's only just gone in there—you may be in time to sit down by him and stand him a drink. Say, in your opinion, Saint will hang. Don't try and pump him—treat the matter as settled. Then let him go. The detective who relieves Thompson must carry on, and tell him from me if he loses his man I'll murder him. He's not to come away until he's certain Hickson is bedded down for the night. Then he can ring up, and we'll relieve him. He is to note down most particularly the number of every house Props—I mean Hickson—goes to. The more information he can get the better I'll be pleased. Now, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir. I'll just go over it if I may, sir."

"Right."

Naseby repeated his instructions, quickly and accurately.

"That's it," said Alleyn. "Now, away you go. Come here when you return. He's a smart fellow, that," he added when Naseby had gone.

He next asked for a report from the district messenger offices that had been combed through that afternoon.

The anonymous letter to Gardener was traced to an office in Piccadilly. They had been particularly busy when the gentleman called and hadn't much noticed him. He had worn an overcoat, a muffler, a soft hat, and gloves. He had put the letter on the counter and said: "See that's delivered at once. The boy can keep the change. I'm in a hurry," and had gone out. Height? Medium. Voice? Couldn't really say. Cleanshaven? They thought so. Figure? Perhaps on the stout side. "Ugh?" said Alleyn. "Our old pal, the man in the street. Might be anybody."

He sent for Detective-Sergeant Bailey, who came in looking puzzled.