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Yard.
    Had she really been upset?
    Or had that scene been staged for his benefit?
    He did not know, and he had to admit that he could not be sure of anything with Minnie. He sighed, for at the back of his mind there was a fear that she had put something across him. It had happened in the past, and yet there seemed no way in which he could make sure that it had not happened again.
    He took all the precautions he could by having a plainclothes man detailed to duty outside the flat until further notice, while he sat back in his office and grumbled about the fog. It stopped everything, and it had made the murderer’s job so much easier.
    McNab had an uncomfortable feeling that things were not as they should be. It was a popular fallacy among many people that Scotland Yard had their fingers on the pulse of the underworld – which, McNab would say, was a theory that might fit if anyone knew where the underworld was. He and the other officers knew as well as Rollison that many things happened which did not reach the ears of the police – the history of the post-war years was one crime wave after another.
    McNab shrugged, and decided to go down to the canteen for a cup of tea. After twenty minutes he returned, and as he opened the door his shoulders drooped a little, and he looked a tired man.
    He straightened up abruptly a moment later, however, and his shaggy eyebrows moved. For there was only one voice in McNab’s world quite as nonchalant as the one that addressed him unexpectedly from an armchair in front of the coal fire, in that office which normally sheltered four Chief Inspectors.
    â€œYou’ve kept me waiting a long time, Mac,” he was assured, “and I hope you’ve a pick-me-up waiting.”
    â€œWhat are you doing here?” said McNab, as the Toff stood up from the chair and smiled at him.
    â€œOnly great detectives can identify men so fast,” said the Toff amiably. “I always said your gifts weren’t fully recognized, Mac.”
    â€œWho,” demanded McNab, “let you in?”
    â€œWhoever it was, I told him I was calling on you by appointment, so don’t start reducing him to the ranks.”
    McNab knew Rollison well – too well at times – and he needed no telling that a visit so late on a foggy night was important. Most of the things which the Toff discussed with McNab were important, or they developed in a big way. If the Inspector did not approve of the Toff’s methods, he admitted their efficacy, and at times they were on friendly terms.
    â€œWell,” he demanded, as they both sat down, Rollison looking as if he owned the place, “what do you want?”
    â€œThat’s all the reward I get,” said the Toff, “for reporting a murder an hour after it was committed. Are all Scotsmen as mean-minded as you, Mac?”
    McNab did not let him finish, but demanded a full story. The Toff thereon explained a little, but McNab guessed he was holding a great deal back.
    According to the Toff’s statement, he had been prowling about the wharves when he had heard a scuffle and a cry. He had investigated and seen the dead man and chased after the murderer.
    â€œI lost him in the fog, Mac, it’s just as simple as that. I hate to admit it, but there it is.”
    â€œI doubt you’ve told me everything,” said McNab dubiously, “but I know you won’t until you’re ready.”
    The Toff’s expression changed to one of bland innocence, and with that McNab had to be satisfied; but he still doubted whether the Toff had confided more than a bare outline, and he started his report in a glum frame of mind. It seemed that both Minnie Sidey and the Hon. Richard Rollison were holding out on him – which was not far from the truth.
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Chapter Six
Of Many Things
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    There were many things on the Toff’s mind as he made his way back to Gresham Terrace, and one of them was the possibility that Irma