Hawke recognised the secretary’s platinum hair, and saw the good-looking features of Lunt, the assistant-manager, and Clarke, the chief cashier

Dorman said, “It – it’s one of three people. My secretary, Miss Reed, the assistant-manager, a man named Lunt, or the cashier, Clarke. They are the only three people with access to the takings and the counterfoil box.” “But surely by making certain you handle the money yourself from the box-office, you watch that it’s not touched.”

“The money isn’t touched!” said Dorman excitedly. “But faked counter-foils are put in – the records show that forty pounds worth of tickets, in excess of the takings, are in that pile there.

“There is a box at the door of both sides of the house. Counterfoils are pushed in while the house is in darkness.

“Anyone could do it. And if there was a surprise audit, the takings would not tally with the half-tickets. It’s a fiendishly clever plot, but if it’s humanly possible, I want to make sure that nothing is disclosed. As a matter of fact, I’m desperate, Hawke – I can’t sleep for worry.

“I feel I’m being followed and watched all the time. But if I should attempt to have inquiries made, I’ve been warned by telephone that my real name, and past record, will be sent to my employer.

You – you can see what a plight I am in.” Hawke nodded slowly.

“I certainly can – and fiendishly clever barely describes it! Where have you to take this twenty-five pounds?

“I’ve to hand it to one of three sandwich-board men, who will be in Coventry Street at nine o’clock. The first one is to have the envelope.

“But I haven’t twenty-five pounds left! I owe money all over the place, even trades-people are pushing me for payment of old accounts.”

“I see,” said Hawke. “Tell me, have you ever once taken money from the box-office?”

“I swear I haven’t! I’ve balanced correctly every night, but I can’t tonight. It’s impossible. These counter-foils – ” he broke off. “The forgeries can be traced, but don’t you see that if an inquiry starts, I’m finished?”

“Ye-es,” said Hawke slowly. “All right, Dorman. I’ll help you. I’m taking you on trust, but I’ll lend you twenty-five pounds to take to the sandwich-man.

“I’ll have to go to my flat for the money, but I’ll see it’s here in good time.”

Dorman drew a deep breath.

“I – I don’t know how to thank you!”

“We’ll worry about that later,” said Hawke. “Meanwhile, have you photographs of the three suspects?”

“Yes. There should be some in the files. I always ask for photographs when engaging staff.”

Dorman went to the file and found the photographs.

Hawke recognised the secretary’s platinum hair, and saw the good-looking features of Lunt, the assistant-manager, and Clarke, the chief cashier. With the photographs in his pocket he went outside. “Nothing doing here!” said Tommy Burke. “There’s plenty doing, but I haven’t fathomed it yet,” said Hawke.

“Anyhow, I’ve staked twenty-five pounds on Dorman’s good character. Let’s get outside.”

In the street he took out the photographs. “Get those firmly in your mind, Tommy, and watch the theatre. If any one of the trio comes out, follow him or her.”

“Okay,” said Tommy, mystified but obedient. Hawke went to his flat, took out twenty-five pounds in notes, and then returned to the cinema. Dorman was in the foyer. Hawke handed him the envelope, and Dorman could not thank him enough.

It was only a few minutes to nine, and the manager hurried to his appointment.

Tommy was missing. Hawke frowned, but followed Dorman nevertheless. He saw the manager hand over the envelope; that part of the story was true, then.

Hawke waited for ten minutes, and then the sandwich-board man, who looked like a tramp, went off on his own, leaving the other two at work. Hawke shadowed the man cleverly.

The sandwich-board man disappeared into a doorway in Wardour Street, then Hawke waited. Shortly afterwards two or three well-dressed men came out, and then Hawke saw a fourth – a man also well-dressed, but Hawke saw, freshly shaven; there was a slight cut in his cheek, as if he had shaved too hastily.

The man hired a taxi.

Hawke followed him in another cab. His size and build were the same as the tramp’s, and although he looked very different, Hawke was positive it was the same man.

The detective sat far back in the cab, and the driver drove well. After fifteen minutes, the first taxi drew up outside a block of flats in Kensington. Hawke’s own cabby went past and then slowed down. “What now, sir?”

“Wait for me, please,” Hawke said, and he left the cab. He saw his man disappear into the flat, and then he hurried in after him and followed to the second floor, without being seen. The door was opened with a key and then a voice rang out: “Let me go – ”

It was Tommy Burke!

The door was slammed to, and Tommy’s voice cut off. Hawke hesitated for some seconds, then walked to the end of the passage where he saw a fire-escape.

He opened a window, climbed out, and saw that the escape led along to the flat where his man had disappeared.

Hawke crept along the landing, reached the window, and heard a rough voice say: “He sent it all right – he must have started lifting the till-money. We’ve got him where we want him!”

“That’s okay,” said a second voice. “But this young swab followed me – I wouldn’t have noticed him, but I happened to see him outside Dorman’s office. I’ve tried to make him talk.”

More tomorrow.