The only point on which he was a trifle hazy, as other such schemers have been before him, was the precise moment at which the getaway ought to be made; and it was with a sudden sinking of heart that he heard the name of the man who called to see him at his office on a certain afternoon.
"Inspector Tombs?" he said with a rather pallid heartiness. "I think I have met you somewhere before."
"I'm the C. I. D. Inspector in this division," said the visitor blandly.
Mr. Journ nodded. He knew now where he had seen his caller before — it was the man who had been talking to Chief Inspector Teal in Swallow Street when he went by a few days ago, and who had stared at him so intently.
Mr. Journ opened a drawer and took out a box of cigars with unsteady hands.
"What can I do for you, Inspector?" he asked.
Somewhat to his surprise, Inspector Tombs willingly helped himself to a handful, and sat down in an armchair.
"You can give me money," said Inspector Tombs brazenly; and the wild leaping of Sumner Journ's heart died down to a painful throbbing.
"For one of your charities, perhaps? Well, I have never been miserly—"
The Saint shook his head.