"It's an important matter, Mr. de Mountford," retorted the man. "Are
you lodging anywhere near here?"

"In Exhibition Road, Kensington."

"Ah, close to Cromwell Road?"

"Not far."

"Then where shall it be, Mr. de Mountford?"

"Why not in the cab?" remarked Luke.

"Just as you like."

The taxicab which had brought the police officers was standing some
few paces farther on, its strong lights only just piercing the
intensity of the fog, and its throbbings, as the taximeter marked off
twopences with unerring rapidity, filled the night with their
strangely familiar sound.

The three men got into the cab, the officer telling the chauffeur to
remain stationary until told to move on.

"I know very little about the business, Mr.--er--Travers," remarked
Luke as soon as all three of them had stowed themselves fairly
comfortably in the interior of the vehicle. "I suppose it is about
this ghastly affair that you wanted to speak to me."

"Yes, sir. It was about that. I thought you could give us some
information about the late Mr. de Mountford's past life, or his former
friends."

"I know nothing," retorted Luke dryly, "of my cousin's past or present
life. He did not confide in me."

"But you were good friends?" interposed the other quickly.

"We knew each other very little."

"And to-night?"

"I saw him at his club."

"Where was that?"

"The Veterans' in Shaftesbury Avenue."

"About what time?"

"Between eight and nine."

"You had some talk with him?"

"Yes."

"Pleasant talk?" asked the officer indifferently.

"Family affairs," rejoined Luke dryly.

"And you parted from him?"

"Somewhere about nine."

"In the club?"

"In the club."

"The door steps?"

"No. The lobby."

"He was alone then? I mean--besides yourself was no one with him?"

"No one. The hall porter stood there of course."

"No one joined him afterward?"

"That I cannot say. When I parted from him he was alone."

"You know that Mr. Philip de Mountford was murdered in a taxicab
between Shaftesbury Avenue and Hyde Park Corner, soon after nine
o'clock?"

"I have heard most of the details of that extraordinary crime.

"And you can throw no light on it at all?"

"None. How could I?"

"Nothing," insisted the police officer, "occurs to you at this moment
that might help us in any way to trace the murderer?"

"Nothing whatever."

The man was silent. It seemed as if he was meditating how best to put
one or more questions