"Yes, but not so confident as that. If they don't know nothing about it, they say: 'The police 'as a clew,' an' everybody knows they 'aven't got nothing o' the sort. But this says: 'A strong clew, what the police is followin' up.' Did we leave anything be'ind us?" Rack their brains as they would, they could not remember anything they had left as a clew. The question worried them considerably. Bill made once more his suggestion that Eustace could be employed to set things right, but dropped the idea hastily in face of Alf's reception thereof. "I expect," he said at last, hopefully, but without real conviction, "as it's all cammyflage, arter all. There ain't no clew, an' they just pitched the tale extra strong so's people won't make remarks." Each man kept an anxious eye on the papers for the next few days, but nothing more was published concerning the clew; and when the time went on, and the day before they were due to return to the front arrived without any more light being thrown on the Manor mystery, they began to feel more easy. But that day, as Bill and his mother (a lady as aggressive as Mrs. Higgins was the reverse) were finishing their dinner there came a heavy knocking on the door. Mrs. Grant peeped out of the window to see who her unexpected visitors might be. "Two policemen!" she exclaimed in angry alarm. "Is this some o' your doin's, Bill Grant? What you been up to?" "Nothin'," said Bill as jauntily as he could for the cold chills that were chasing one another up and down his backbone. "Nothin' at all." "I 'ope not," answered his mother grimly. She had seen his expression at hearing the word "policeman," and she suspected the worst. Whether or not the police succeeded in extracting anything from him, she was confident that he had been doing something wrong. She determined that once the police had been safely got away, Bill would have her to deal with. "If you've been doin' anythin'," she went on, "it'll be worse for you. I'm a respectable woman, I am. Quick, go an' answer the door before the neighbors see we got the police 'ere." As Bill went towards the door the knocking was renewed with redoubled violence. Mrs. Grant could see interested faces at the windows of the houses opposite, and her temper became worse than ever. She went into the passage, where Bill had just admitted two large constables. "Come in 'ere," she said. They entered. Under his armpit the larger of the two--a sergeant--bore a book which Bill at once recognized. It was the old lady's copy of the _Arabian Nights_--and the "strong clew" of the newspapers. Bill prepared to lie as he had never lied before. The smaller policeman--he could not have weighed more than fourteen stone--produced an indelible pencil and an official notebook. He laid the latter on the table and moistened the former preparatory to beginning his clerical labors, receiving thereby a purple stain on the lip. "Private William Grant?" asked the sergeant. "That's me."