Cullis stood by the window with three deep furrows of thought in his forehead. As Teal reached the door he roused out of his abstracted concentration.
"That man Gugliemi?" he said.
"He's being shipped off tomorrow. The deportation order came through this morning. What about him?"
"Where is he now?"
Teal raised his mournful eyebrows.
"Brixton, I think. I'll find out for you. Why?"
"I've got an idea."
"I had one of those myself, once," said Teal reminiscently. "What is this idea?"
"I'm thinking of taking a leaf out of the Saint's book. Dyson was useful to him, if you remember, and I have an idea that Gugliemi may be useful to me. Every one of the men we've got on to watch Trelawney and Weald has been worse than useless. Gugliemi might get by where an ordinary plain-clothes man would be spotted a mile off. Also—"
He paused abruptly.