“Oh, nothing like that. There was some sort of burglary at his flat in Great Russell Street a week or two ago. Clumsy affair, and we caught the chap next day. But young Moss got the wind up properly about it,” explained the inspector. “Said everybody might be murdered in their beds, and all that sort of thing. You know what hysterical people say when they think that the man who robbed ’em isn’t being arrested quickly enough to suit their convenience.”

Cunningham made sympathetic noises, and awaited further revelations. The revelations did not show much sign of coming, so he asked for the number of the house in which Mr. Moss had his flat, and received it.

“There’s a fellow there in charge—sort of janitor-caretaker,” the inspector explained. “If you’re checking up on the young fellow’s movements I should think he’ll be able to put you on the right track.”

“Thanks very much,” said Cunningham. “That’s just the sort of fellow that I want to get hold of.”

He rose to go, and then another idea came into his head.

“What sort of chap is this Moss?” he asked. “Decent fellow?”

“Very decent,” returned the other. “Bit highly strung, I fancy. That’s about all that’s the matter with him. I should imagine that you’d find him easy enough to deal with—that is, if you can get hold of him. He seems to keep the most unearthly hours.”

“That sounds cheerful,” was Cunningham’s comment. And, before the day was done, he was to learn that his comment was abundantly justified.

He went around, first of all, to the flat in Great Russell Street, to find, as he had anticipated, that Mr. Moss had already gone out for the day. However, he found the janitor-caretaker in a little office at the entrance to the block of flats. He was a garrulous little Cockney, short and fat, and Cunningham at once realised that, if any information was obtainable, there would be but little difficulty in getting it out of him. The difficulty, indeed, would rather be to stem the flow of reminiscence when once it was properly started on its headlong career.

“Moss?” he said with a cheery smile. “Why, yus, guv’nor, I knows Mr. Moss all right. A nicer young chap you never did meet.”

Cunningham rightly diagnosed this as indicating a ready hand with tips, and discounted its value accordingly. He made further questions force their way into the conversation, and soon obtained some information which might, or might not, prove useful in due course.

“Last night. Now let me see,” said the caretaker, pursing up his lips thoughtfully. “Last night I lef’ this ’ere orfice at ar’-pas’ twelve. He hadn’t come in up to then, not so far as I remember.”