pretty hard-up. There was a sort of desperate gleam in his eye. And--"

"Take your time," remarked Drillford. "Anything you can suggest,
you know--"

"Well," replied Viner. "I'd an idea at the moment, and I've had it since,
that I'd seen this man before. Something in his face was familiar. The
only thing I can think of is this: I potter round old bookshops and
curiosity-shops a good deal--I may have seen this young fellow on some
occasion of that sort."

"Anyway," suggested Drillford, glancing over the particulars which he had
written down, "you'd know him again if you saw him?"

"Oh, certainly!" asserted Viner. "I should know him anywhere."

"Then that's all we need trouble you with now, sir," said Drillford. "The
next business will be--tomorrow."

Viner walked slowly out of the police-station and still more slowly
homeward. When he reached the first lamp, he drew out his watch.
Half-past twelve! Just two hours ago he had been in his own comfortable
library, smiling at Miss Penkridge's ideas about the very matters into
one of which he was now plunged. He would not have been surprised if he
had suddenly awoke, to find that all this was a bad dream, induced by the
evening's conversation. But just then he came to the passage in which the
murder had been committed. A policeman was on guard at the terrace
end--and Viner, rather than hear any more of the matter, hastened past
him and made a circuitous way to Markendale Square.