"Thank you, Mr. Rissler. The superintendent at the station where you called has already communicated with us in regard to your statement. I'm not sure that what you have told us will be of any practical assistance, except in so far as it confirms what we already know. But we are obliged to you in any case. You have done rightly in coming to us. We will communicate with you should we want your further assistance. We have your address, I think? Thank you very much. Good morning."
"You know this man, the Dumpling, as they call him?" I inquired eagerly, ignoring my dismissal.
"Perfectly."
"What is there against him?"
"Nothing—absolutely nothing. He holds views which in some countries would get him into trouble, but in England one can talk anarchy or anything else as much as one likes, so long as one's actions keep within the law. And he keeps doubtful company. In fact, I may go so far as to say that we suspect him of knowing something beforehand of more than one outrage with which we have had to deal, though we have not yet been able to implicate him directly."
"And what's his name?" I asked.
Scotland Yard, as personified in the official before me, lifted its eyebrows and shrugged its shoulders.
"Really, Mr. Rissler, I don't think I must answer any more questions. As I have said, you have done quite right in coming to us, though you haven't told us anything we didn't know before. But the matter is in the hands of Detective Grant, and I think you may safely leave it there."
"Oh, yes," I said. "Grant's a good man. He's a friend of mine. We worked together, he and I, in more than one case in the past."
"Indeed!"