“From about eleven o’clock until half-past twelve, I should think,” answered Moss. “I had had a thickish night the night before, and I didn’t have breakfast until after ten.”

“What did you do when you left the Museum?” pursued Cunningham.

“Went to my firm’s place off Regent Street,” answered the young Jew. “There was an old lady there who was trying to decide whether she wanted a car or not. I ran her out to Slough and back—along the Great West Road—had tea with her, and succeeded in landing the sale at about half-past six.”

“Then?” Cunningham was resolved to leave nothing to chance, although he felt fairly sure that the crucial part of the alibi would lie in the time which the young man had spent at the British Museum.

“Then I went home, had some dinner in my flat, and went to my pub—the Fifteen Swords in Bloomsbury Street—where I played shove-ha’penny until closing time. Then to bed, as old Pepys used to say.”

“What parts of the day have you any sort of alibi for?” asked Cunningham. “I mean, what times have you any confirmation for?”

Again the young man plunged deep in thought. “The British Museum part I think I can confirm,” he said. “I had a chat with the curator of the Egyptian Antiquities Room. A friend of mine has been doing some excavations in Luxor, and some of his stuff was on show there. He asked me to go and make enquiries about what they were doing. I think that fellow will know me, and will remember my being there.”

“And the rest of the day?”

“Well, the old lady—Mrs. Hatton, of Slough—will bear me out for the period from one-thirty until six or so, the waiter fellow at the flats where I live will give you the time I had dinner, and the barman at the pub, as well as some of the ‘regulars’ there, will give you my times for the evening,” announced the young man. “I don’t think, in fact, that there will be any difficulty for any part of the day. I think my alibi, my dear old chap, is about as watertight as it can be.”

“Seems quite satisfactory,” said Cunningham, putting into his voice far more conviction than he really felt.

“Anything more?” asked Moss, obviously getting restive under this cross-examination.

“Not much,” Cunningham admitted. “Only the names and addresses of the people concerned.”

“By Jove, you fellows are pretty thorough, aren’t you?” said Moss, in open admiration.

“Have to be in our job, sir,” said Cunningham, and wrote down the names and addresses that the young man gave him.

“And now,” said Moss, when the work was apparently complete, “am I free to go where I like?”