"Was he a foreigner?"

"Not to my idea. He looked like a Scotchman. Don't you know him, sir?"

"Not yet. I hope to make his acquaintance. Can you remember the 'bus which was in front of you at Whitehall at 10.45?"

"Yes; I can tell you that. It was a Monster, Pimlico. The conductor is a friend of mine, named Tomkins. That is the only time I have seen him to-day."

At the Monster, Pimlico, after another delay, Tomkins was produced. Again Brett described David Hume, adorned now with "black, snaky eyes and high cheek-bones."

"Of course," said Tomkins. "I've spotted 'im. 'E came aboard wiv a run just arter a hoss fell in front of the statoo. Gimme a penny, 'e did, an'

jumped orf at the 'Orse Guards without a ticket afore we 'ad gone a 'undred yards. I thort 'e was frightened or dotty, I did. Know 'im agin?

Ra--ther. Eyes like gimlets, 'e 'ad."

The barrister regained the seclusion of the hansom.

"St John's Mansions, Kensington," he said to the driver, and then he curled up on the seat in the most uncomfortable att.i.tude permitted by the construction of the vehicle.

On nearing his destination he stopped the cab at a convenient corner.

"I want you to wait here for my return," he told the driver.

"How long will you be, sir?"

"Not more than fifteen minutes."

"I only asked, sir, because I wanted to know if I had time to give the horse a feed."

Cabby was evidently quite convinced that his eccentric fare was not a bilker.

Brett glanced around. In the neighbouring street was a public-house, which possessed what the agents call "a good pull-up trade." He pointed to it.

"I think," he said, "if you wait there it will be more comfortable for you and equally good for the horse."

The cabby pocketed an interim tip with a grin.

"I've struck it rich to-day," he murmured, as he disappeared through a swing door bearing the legend, "Tap," in huge letters.

Meanwhile, Brett sauntered past St. John's Mansions. Across the road a man was leaning against the railings of a large garden, being deeply immersed in the columns of a sporting paper.

The barrister caught his eye and walked on. A minute later Mr. Winter overtook him.

"Not a move here all day," he said in disgust, "except Mrs. Jiro's appearance with the perambulator. She led me all round Kensington Gardens, and her only business was to air the baby and cram it with sponge-cakes."

"Where is her husband?"

"In the house. He hasn't stirred out since yesterday's visit to the Museum."

"Who is looking after the place in your absence?"

"One of my men has taken a room over the paper shop opposite. He has special charge of the j.a.p. My second a.s.sistant is sc.r.a.ping and varnishing the door of No. 16 flat. He sees every one who enters and leaves the place during the day. If Mrs. Jiro comes out he has to follow her until he sees that I am on the job."

"Good! I want to talk matters over with you. I have a cab waiting in a side street."

"Why, sir, has anything special happened?"

A newsboy came running along shouting the late edition of the _Evening News_. The barrister bought a paper and rapidly glanced through its contents.

"Here you are," he said. "Someone in that office has a good memory."

The item which Brett pointed out to the detective read as follows:--

"ACCIDENT IN WHITEHALL.

"Mr. Robert Hume-Frazer, residing in one of the great hotels in Northumberland Avenue, was knocked down and nearly run over by an omnibus in Whitehall this morning. The skill of the driver averted a very serious accident. It is supposed that Mr. Hume-Frazer slipped whilst attempting to cross before the policeman on duty at that point stopped the traffic.

"The injured gentleman was carried to his hotel, where he is staying with his cousin, Mr. David Hume-Frazer, whose name will be recalled in connection with the famous 'Stowmarket Mystery' of last year."

"What does it all mean?" inquired Winter.

"It means that you must listen carefully to what I am going to tell you.

Here is my cab. Jump in. Driver, I am surprised that a man of your intelligence should waste your money on a public-house cigar. Throw it away. Here is a better one. And now, Victoria Street, sharp."

Winter's ears were p.r.i.c.ked to receive Brett's intelligence. Beyond a sigh of professional admiration at the result of Brett's pertinacity with regard to the omnibuses pa.s.sing through Whitehall at 10.45, he did not interrupt until the barrister had ended.

Even then he was silent, so Brett looked at him in surprise,

"Well, Winter, what do you think of it?" he said.

"Think! I wish I had half your luck, Mr. Brett," he answered sadly.

"How now, you green-eyed monster?"

"No. I'm not jealous. You beat me at my own game; I admit it. I would never have thought of going for the 'buses. I suppose you would have interviewed the driver and conductor of every vehicle on that route before you gave in. You didn't trouble about the hansoms. Hailing a cab was a slow business, and risked subsequent identification. To jump on to a moving 'bus was just the thing. Yes, there is no denying that you are d--d smart."

"Winter, your unreasonable jealousy is making you vulgar."

"Wouldn't any man swear, sir? Why did I let such a handful as Mrs. Jiro slip through my fingers the other day? Clue! Why, it was a perfect bale of cotton. If I had only followed her instead of that little rat, her husband, we would now know where the third man lives, and have the murderer of Sir Alan under our thumb. It is all my fault, though sometimes I feel inclined to blame the police system--a system that won't even give us telephones between one station and another. Never mind. Wait till I tackle the next job for the Yard. I'll show 'em a trick or two."

CHAPTER XXI

CONCERNING CHICKENS, AND MOTIVES

The detective cooled off by the time they reached Brett's flat. On the dining-room tables they found two telegrams and a Remington type-writer.

The messages were from Holden, Naples.