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"I'm always glad to see my old Moroccan friends," said Jim. "Won't you have a drink, Mr. Kelly?"

"No, thank you," said Kelly. "I won't occupy any more of your time. I was told that you didn't live in town—that you had a house somewhere in Sussex."

"Yes, I have a house in Sussex," said Jim quietly.

By this time the match case was in the detective's pocket.

"If you're ever in Liverpool, look me up—John L. Kelly," said Marborne, as he put out his hand. "You'll find me in the telephone directory—943 Lime Street. I'm very glad indeed to have met you again, Mr. Morlake."

Jim took the hand and watched his visitor as he strolled towards the curtained hallway.

"Oh, by the way," he said, as the man reached the curtain, "you might be good enough to leave my matches behind—I may want them."

Marborne stared and started.

"Your—your matches?" he stammered.

"Yes, they're in your right-hand trousers pocket, Inspector," said Jim, hardly looking up from the book he had opened.

"I have no matches," said Marborne loudly.