“We're on to something, sir. That was Fossaway ringing up from Fountain Street. It seems a man called there a few minutes ago and began fishing round to know if there was any likelihood of a reward being offered in connection with the bungalow case. He seemed as if he might know something, and they handed him over to Detective-Sergeant Fossaway to see what he could make of him. Fossaway's fairly satisfied that there's something behind it, though he could extract nothing whatever from the fellow in the way of definite statements.”
“Has Fossaway got him there still?”
“No, sir. He'd no power to detain him, of course; and the fellow turned stubborn in the end and went off without saying anything definite.”
“I hope they haven't lost him.”
“Oh, no, sir. They know him quite well.”
“What sort of person is he, then?”
“A nasty type, sir. He keeps one of these little low-down shops where you can buy a lot of queer things. Once we nearly had him over the sale of some postcards, but he was too clever for us at the last moment. Then he was up in an assault case: he'd been wandering round the Park after dark, disturbing couples with a flash-lamp. A thoroughly low-down little creature. His name's Whalley.”
Sir Clinton's face showed very plainly his view of the activities of Mr. Whalley.
“Well, so long as they can lay their hands on him any time we need him, it's all right. I think we'll persuade him to talk. By the way, was this lamp-flashing stunt of his done for æsthetic enjoyment, or was he doing a bit of blackmailing on the quiet?”
“Well, nobody actually lodged a complaint against him; but there's no saying whether people paid him or not. His record doesn't make it improbable that he might do something in that line, if he could manage to pull it off.”