When I look back upon that moment I find myself wondering at the singular effect which the discovery of the dead man’s identity had upon my nerves. It turned them in a second’s space from quivering and twitching strings to cords of iron. It acted upon the brain as a cold douche acts upon the body. It was as if a man had staggered heavy with drink to a pump, and after once dipping his head under the tap had come up perfectly sober. And the mental effect was equally curious. I do not think I am in the general way unsympathetic, or indifferent to the misfortunes of others, but on this occasion I found myself as coldly calculating the possible advantages and disadvantages to myself of Green’s untimely end as if I had been a housewife reckoning up what she had made or lost by the sale of eggs. My first procedure was to secure the piece of paper which I had found in the bottle. “I may want Captain Shannon’s autograph one of these days,” I said to myself, “and even were it not so I should be unwise to leave this document upon the scene. If, when the body is found, it is believed that Green was drowned by misadventure there is less chance of awkward questions being asked and inconvenient inquiries made. Such inquiries might bring to light the fact that he was engaged, by my directions, in investigating Mullen’s antecedents, and the matter might come to the ears of Mullen himself. “And now another thing. I’m afraid Green’s papers have been taken by the murderer, otherwise I ought to secure them. They might contain a clue to the secret to which the poor man attached such importance. Ah! I thought so; they’ve gone, for the pocket-book which I know he carried is missing, although his watch, chain, money, and other belongings are left. But stop a minute. When I gave Green my address I remember he took out his cigar-case, removed the cigars, and showed me that the case had a secret pocket for papers. He said that he never carried important papers in a pocket-book, which is the first thing a thief or a rogue who wishes to abstract a document goes for, and that he had had his taken from him twice--once by force and once by a cunning theft. “But Mullen would not know that Green kept documents in his cigar-case, and probably wouldn’t trouble to take it. Let me see. Yes, here it is, in the breast pocket, and I _think_ I can feel papers inside the silk lining. We’ll look at them by-and-bye. Anything else in his pockets that I might require? No. Then I’ll slide the body back into the water. He’s evidently been dead many hours, and it can make no difference to him, poor fellow. That’s it. He’s just as he was when I found him. Now I’ll be off. Good night, Mr. James Bakewell Green. I won’t press you for that I O U.”