d**k MARTIN’S last official job (as he believed) was to pull in Lew Pheeney, who was wanted in connection with the Helborough bank robbery. He found Lew in a little Soho café, just as he was finishing his coffee.
“What’s the idea, colonel?” asked Lew, almost genially, as he got his hat.
“The inspector wants to talk to you about that Helborough job,” said d**k.
Lew’s nose wrinkled in contempt.
“Helborough grandmothers!” he said scornfully. “I’m out of that bank business—thought you knew it. What are you doing in the force, Martin? They told me that you’d run into money and had quit.”
“I’m quitting. You’re my last bit of business.”
“Too bad you’re falling down on the last lap!” grinned Lew. “I’ve got forty-five well-oiled alibis. I’m surprised at you, Martin. You know I don’t ‘blow’ ba
