Mr. Ludgrove smiled. “I am inclined to think that the story does credit to the young man’s imagination,” he said quietly. “I can’t say that I’ve ever seen a Bolshevik sailor wandering about Praed Street on a Sunday evening.”

“Nor hasn’t anybody else,” replied Mr. Copperdock scornfully, “what’s more, the policeman, who was on the spot pretty sharp, didn’t see anybody like this man in the crowd. There’s no question but what Wal Snyder invented this story to cover himself. It’s all plain as daylight to me⁠—ah, but there’s one thing I haven’t told you. Remember I said that poor old Jim had been sent for to St. Martha’s to identify an accident case? Well, that was all my eye. There hadn’t been no accident and St. Martha’s hadn’t rung him up at all. It was just a trick to get him out into Praed Street.”