"No dress clothes—deuce of an appetite. Chap who had scraped up a few guineas perhaps to do himself well—on the bust. No, that won't do. Ordered his dinner too well for that. Had the air of a man accustomed to the best places. Brown said so. A shilling and five coppers to the porter. Queer kind of tip! What in blazes was the fellow doing? What sort of company does he keep?"
Cranbourne jumped into a taxi and returned to the Berkeley. It was closed but a night porter admitted him.
"Look here, I want to get hold of Brown," he said.
"You're in luck, sir," the man returned. "One of our visitors 'as been giving a supper and Mr. Brown was in charge. If 'e 'asn't gone I'll try and get him for you."
He returned a moment later with Brown following.
"Tremendously sorry," said Cranbourne, "but I want to ask you a few more questions about that fellow I spoke of."
"I've been thinking about him myself, sir, and one or two things have come to mind. Remembered his tie for instance."
"Yes."
"Old Etonian colours," said Brown.
Cranbourne nodded enthusiastically.