"Sergeant Biggin is a good man."

"Yes, yes. But this is a matter for the Yard. Important man, shows we're on top of it, results quickly, and all that. If you take my meaning."

Rutledge did. He would not fail to bring in his man, this time.

"One other thing. See that you show the family every courtesy. They'll be worried. Keep them informed."

"Who made the initial report? The family or the clinic? And when?"

"The clinic. An hour ago. They sent someone around to the nearest station. When he saw the lay of the land, Sergeant Biggin contacted the Yard. And rightly so."

Bowles stood up, pacing the narrow room. "The facts are these. The clinic contacted the London police, Sergeant Biggin went to have a look, and then he contacted us. It seems Teller had come into the city from his home in Essex to speak to his bankers-there's a son off to Harrow, shortly-and took ill on the way home. His doctor-man by the name of Fielding-sent him directly to the Belvedere, hoping the medical men there could sort him out."

Rutledge nodded. "They have a good reputation."

"That was last week. And according to Biggin, Teller was not showing any improvement at all. In fact his paralysis was progressing. And then as quickly as it came on, it apparently disappeared, because in the middle of the afternoon, today, Teller dressed himself and walked out of the clinic on his own. The clinic's porter never saw him leave. So they searched the place, then called the police and summoned Mrs. Teller. She'd been resting at the home of her brother-in-law in Marlborough Street, and the family came to the clinic at once."

It was a measure of Bowles's personal interest in the matter that he had briefed Rutledge so thoroughly.

"That's all I can give you." Bowles turned to leave. "My compliments to Mrs. Teller, and we'll do everything in our power to bring this matter to a happy conclusion." With a nod, he was out the door.