two or three times previously, and in my wanderings had realised that it harboured some slums which were quite as disreputable as anything you can find in Liverpool or Cardiff. But my companions turned up town, towards the best parts of the place. It was quiet in those spacious and stately streets, and the echo of our footsteps sounded eerie in the silence. Nobody spoke until we had walked some distance; then the inspector turned to me.
"Did Mr. Parslewe speak to you of any possible danger, Mr. Craye, as regards what he was after?" he asked.
"I'll tell you precisely what he did say," I answered. "He said, 'Not so much danger as difficulty, though I won't deny that there may be danger.' His exact words!"
"Just so," he remarked. "And he didn't tell you much more?"
"He told me nothing, except that he was hoping to get hold of a possible something," I replied. "If you know Mr. Parslewe, you know that on occasion, when it suits him, he can be both vague and ambiguous."
"I know Mr. Parslewe—well enough!" he
