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“Mr. Hargrove went out about half-an-hour ago,” said the publican. “He seemed very much excited and took a taxi-cab, a thing he doesn’t often do.”

“And you don’t know….”

“Where he was going? Well, there’s no secret about it He shouted it loud enough! ‘Prefecture of Police’ is what he said to the driver….”

Lupin was himself just hailing a taxi, when he changed his mind; and I heard him mutter:

“What’s the good? He’s got too much start of us….”

He asked if any one called after Mr. Hargrove had gone.

“Yes, an old gentleman with a grey beard and spectacles. He went up to Mr. Hargrove’s, rang the bell, and went away again.”

“I am much obliged,” said Lupin, touching his hat.

He walked away slowly without speaking to me, wearing a thoughtful air. There was no doubt that the problem struck him as very difficult, and that he saw none too clearly in the darkness through which he seemed to be moving with such certainty.

He himself, for that matter, confessed to me:

“These are cases that require much more intuition than reflection. But this one, I may tell you, is well worth taking pains about.”