“And I have a vague suspicion that Moss hoped to marry the young lady himself, when her fiancé had been hanged for the murder of her father.” Shelley paused to see what would be the effect of this revelation upon his colleague.

Cunningham seemed to take this as probable, and agreed that it appeared to be quite a likely attitude for the murderer to take up.

“I think, though,” he added, “that you said something about new facts.”

“Oh, yes.” Shelley recalled himself to the present. “This evening, while you were getting hold of those useful facts about the kidnapping of Miss Arnell, I made some enquiries as to Moss’s financial status.”

“Yes?”

“Yes. And he was practically bankrupt. Up to the eyes in debt, didn’t know where to turn for cash. So that explains a whole lot more, gives him an adequate motive, and shows that he wanted to get out of the hands of the money-lenders who had a pretty tight grip on him.”

“Money-lenders?”

“Yes. Remember Victor Isaacs, the moneylender of Ludgate Hill?”

“Can’t say I do.”

“Maybe you haven’t met him professionally. Nasty piece of work. Greasy little fellow, who will do anything for a few pounds. He’s one of those unpleasant people whom the Fascists are so fond of portraying as the typical Jew. Nothing of the sort really, of course, and to call him such is a libel on the Jewish race.”

“And Moss owed him money?”

“Yes; to the tune of several thousands. I went around to Isaacs’s office, and, though Isaacs himself wasn’t on duty—only turns up for an hour or two a day, I imagine—I managed to scare his assistant into giving me full details of the transactions in which Mr. Moss was concerned. They didn’t have any indication of the security offered, which is itself pretty suspicious. But there was no doubt at all that Moss owed him a pile—and he was pressing for, at any rate, a partial settlement. And there’s the motive!”

“But who do you think actually did the kidnapping?” Cunningham objected.

“Moss himself,” answered Shelley promptly.

“In disguise?”

“Naturally.”

“That’s possible, but we shall have the very devil of a job to prove it,” said Cunningham.

“Think so? Why?”

“Well,” said Cunningham with a sheepish grin, “you can’t say that those busmen were precisely ideal witnesses to identify Moss, can you?”

“No. But identification should be easy enough when we get him with Miss Arnell a prisoner in the north of England somewhere—for I imagine that’s where they’re making for. A criminal always makes for the part of the country that he knows best. When he’s on the run he thinks that he has a better chance of avoiding the police there.”

“Moss knows the north of England?”