“Half-past twelve? Do you have to work as late as that?” asked Cunningham, knowing that a little human sympathy goes a long way in establishing a more friendly footing.

“Yus. I works all hours ’ere. ’Tis about time they put things on a proper footin’. I tells the landlord that every week or two, but ’e don’t tike no notice. So I just sticks to me job and ’opes for the best.”

“Is Mr. Moss a pretty gay dog, then?” pursued Cunningham, leading the conversation back into what he hoped would be more profitable channels.

“Ho, yus!” the caretaker chuckled. “Out ’alf the night, ’e is, sometimes. Though we must all ’ave our bit of fun, you know. After all, we’re only young once, guv’nor. We all ’ave our fling in our time.”

“That’s right.” Cunningham agreed. “But it’s rather important that I should get hold of him as soon as I can. Any idea of where he’d be now?”

“Regent Street,” said the caretaker. “That’s where he’d be. Yus. Regent Street.”

“Where in Regent Street?” asked Cunningham, and the old Cockney chuckled again.

“Couldn’t tell you, guv’nor,” he said. “’E works in a motor shop in Regent Street, selling cars to them toffs up in the West End. That’s all I knows about ’im.”

“Don’t know the name of the firm, I suppose?”

“Sorry, guv’nor, I don’t. If I did, I’d tell you, strite I would.”

“Right. That’s all I can do, I suppose,” said Cunningham, and then, another idea suddenly striking him, he added: “I suppose you know that he did come home last night, don’t you?”

“Ho, yus,” said the caretaker. “I know ’e come ’ome, all right. I seen ’im this morning, seen ’im with me own eyes. ‘Mornin’, Bill,’ ’e says to me as ’e goes out, so cheerful as you like. I will say that for Mr. Moss, it don’t matter ’ow thick a night ’e may ’ave ’ad, ’e always ’aves a cheery word for me next mornin’.”

“Good,” said Cunningham. “Thanks very much.” And, pressing a half-crown into the not unwilling hand of the old Cockney, he made a hurried escape before another instalment of gossip could be poured into his ear.