Then Winter hurried away, and, repressing the inclination to hail a taxi, walked up Whitehall and crossed Trafalgar Square en route to the Shaftesbury Avenue address supplied by the Assistant Commissioner.
He found a sharp-featured youth in charge of the telephone, which was lodged in an estate agent's office. The boy grinned when the Superintendent explained his errand.
"Excuse me," he said, with the pert assurance of the born Cockney, "but we aren't allowed to give information about customers."
"You've broken your rules already, young man," said Winter. "You answered a similar inquiry made by Scotland Yard some hours since."
"Oh, was that it? Gerrard rang me up, and I thought there was something funny going on. Are you from Scotland Yard, sir?"
Winter proffered a card, and the boy's eyes opened wide.
"Crikey!" he said. "I've read about you, sir. Well, I've been doing a bit of detective work of my own. At lunch time I strolled past the set of flats where I thought the lady lived, and had the luck to see her getting out of a cab at the door. I followed her upstairs, pretending I had business somewhere, and saw her go into No. Eleven. Her name is Miss Eileen Garth—at least, that's the name opposite No. Eleven in the list in the hall."
"When you're a bit older you'll make a detective," said Winter. "You've learned the first trick of the job, and that is to keep your eyes open. Now, to encourage you, I'll tell you the second. Keep your mouth shut. If this lady is Miss Garth she is not the person we want, but it would annoy her if she heard the police were inquiring about her; so here is half a crown for your trouble."
"Can I do anything else for you, sir?" came the eager demand.