The telephone buzzed. Grant took it up with an eagerness of which he was not conscious. It was Williams.
"We've located him, sir. Would you like to come, or shall we carry on?"
"Where is it?" Williams told him. "Have you got the exits all secured? No chance of failure if we hang on for a little?"
"Oh, no sir. We've got him all right."
"In that case meet me at the Brixton Road end of Acre Lane in half an hour."
When he joined his subordinate he asked for details, and Williams supplied them as they went along. He had found his man through the house-agents. Lamont had engaged a furnished top flat — two small rooms — three days before the murder, and had moved in on the actual day of the murder, in the morning.
Yes, thought Grant, that fitted Mrs. Everett's story. "What name did he give?" he asked.
"His own," Williams said.
"What! His own name?" repeated Grant incredulously, and was silent, vaguely troubled. "Well, you've done well, Williams, to run him down so soon. Shy bird, is he?"
"He is," said Williams, with emphasis. "Even yet I can't get any one to say that they've seen him. Shy's the word. Here we are, sir. The house is the fourth in the terrace from here."