At three o’clock that same afternoon Inspector Tanner stepped from the train at St Pancras. He had telephoned to the Yard before leaving Halford, and, as a result, one of his men was awaiting him on the platform.
‘Ah, Hilton,’ the Inspector greeted him. ‘I want you to go over to Knightsbridge and look up a man for me—a Mr Cosgrove Ponson who has rooms at Number 174B. All you need find out is whether or not he is at home, I’ll follow you round in a couple of hours, and you can report to me there.’
This arranged, Tanner took a taxi and was driven to his house at Fulham.
Town was very hot. The sun poured down out of an almost brazen sky, taking the freshness from the air and turning the streets into canals of swimming heat. The narrow courts were stifling, the open spaces shone with a blin
