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"It's crude, inspector. He'll never fall into a trap as open as that," he said. "He'll go straight to his servant's house and he'll find him at home."

"I tell you he will come straight here. I could tell by his voice, when I called him up, that he is worried about Binger."

The two men walked rapidly down Cranfield Gardens and turned into a gateway.

"I can hear the sound of a car coming up the hill," said Marborne suddenly. "Get into the shadow of the steps."

"I don't like it," growled Slone. "It's too easy, I tell you. It can't go right——"

"Shut up!" hissed the other. "Here is the car."

Turning from Blackheath Hill, Jim Morlake stopped the machine and alighted. No. 12 was the fourth house from that end of the street he had entered, a high-fronted, sombre house, showing no sign of light. He had unlatched and passed through the wooden gate before the absence of the red light which usually advertises a doctor's house occurred to him, and he walked back to inspect the gate posts to make sure. Yes, it was No. 12. Hesitating no longer, he walked up the path and mounted the stone steps. As he did so, he heard, from inside the house, a shot and the thump of heavy feet in the hall, and drew back.