of the corner of his eyes, Fred watched the detective presently
stand up and pass along the deck of the car towards him. The operator's
face was bland, and he smiled with the consciousness of one who has
nothing to hide as the superintendent sat down beside him.

"Hello, Mr. Foyle! I am glad to see you," he said, with a heartiness
that he knew did not deceive the other. "It's a long time since we met."

The detective returned the greeting with a cheerfulness that was
entirely unassumed.

"It's a piece of luck meeting you, Freddy," he went on. "But there, I
always was lucky. You're just the man in the wide world I've been
wanting to see."

"What's on?" growled Freddy, with quick suspicion.

"Oh, you're all right," the detective reassured him. "I want you to help
me. Let's get off at the next stopping-place and have a drink."

His fears allayed, Freddy followed the detective off the car. They were
professional enemies, it was true, but as a rule their relations were
amicable. It was policy on both sides.

In the saloon bar of an adjacent public-house, Freddy unburdened himself
fully and frankly while he sipped the mixed vermuth.

"I'm glad you struck me--on my word I am," he said earnestly, while his
active wits were wondering what the detective wanted. "That bloke was
carrying a red clock, and, though I was going for it, I had a feeling I
should get into trouble. If you'd been a minute or two later,
you'd----"

"Why talk of these unpleasant things, Freddy?" said Foyle, with a
deprecatory wave of the hand. "You know how I'd hate to have to do
anything to disturb your peace of mind." He drew him to a secluded
corner of the lounge. "Come over here. Now, listen. Do you know
Goldenburg or any of his pals?"

Freddy started a little, and looked meditatively at the tips of his
well-polished boots.

"The chap that did in Grell. I knew him a bit," he said cautiously. "He
was in a different line, you know. Mostly works alone, too. I can't say
that I know much about him. There's Charlie Eden, he was in with him
once--I guess he's in town. And Red Ike, he knew him, too. Perhaps
there's some more of the boys who had some does with him. But he always
was a bit above us common crooks. I only went for big game once,"--his
gaze lingered on Foyle's ring,--"and then it didn't come off."

"Never mind about Eden. You keep your eyes skinned for Red Ike, or any
one else that knew Harry, and give me the office. It'll be worth your