It was a soft breathless June morning, with a promise of sultriness later, but it was delicious enough swinging through the little towns with their freshly watered streets, and past the summer gardens of the Thames valley.

I landed Sir Walter at his house in Queen Anne's Gate punctually by half-past eleven.

The butler was coming up by train with the luggage.
The first thing he did was to take me round to Scotland Yard.

There we saw a prim gentleman, with a clean-shaven, lawyer's face.
'I've brought you the Portland Place murderer,' was Sir Walter's introduction.
The reply was a wry smile.

'It would have been a welcome present, Bullivant.