"'The body was further described, in the police evidence, as that of a middle-aged man, presumably a gentleman. It was clad in a black 'evening-dress' suit, and two pearl studs of some value remained in the limp shirt-front; from which, however, a third and fellow stud was missing. The Police Inspector--who asked for an open verdict, pending further inquiry--added that the linen, and the clothing generally, bore no mark leading to identification. Further, if a crime had been committed, the motive had not been robbery. The trousers-pockets contained a sovereign, and eighteen shillings in silver. In the waistcoat was a gold watch (which had stopped at 10.55), with a chain and a sovereign-purse containing two sovereigns and a half-sovereign: in the left-hand breast pocket of the dinner-jacket a handkerchief, unmarked: in the right-hand pocket a bundle of notes and a worn bean-shaped case for a pair of eyeglasses. The glasses were missing. The Police had carefully dried the notes and separated them. They were nine one pound notes; all numbered, of course. Beyond this and the number on the watch there was nothing to afford a clue.'--" Here Barham paused for a glance up at the roof of the dug-out, as two explosions sounded pretty near at hand. "Huns saying good-night," he interpolated. "Can't have spotted us. Nothing doing aloft these three days." Polkinghorne looked across the light at the C.O., who sat unaccountably silent, his face inscrutable in the penumbra. Taking silence for "yes," Polkinghorne arose and put his head outside for a look around. "Queer story, you'll admit, sir?" put in Sammy Barham during this pause. "Shall I go on, or wait for the rollicking Polly to hear it out?--for the queerest part is to come." "I know," said Otway, after some two or three seconds' silence. "Eh? . . . But it's just here, sir, the thing of a sudden gets mysteriouser and mysteriouser--" Polkinghorne came back. "Nerves," he reported. "They're potting all over the place. . . . Here, Sammy, pass over that scrap of paper if you've finished reading. I want to hear the end." "It hasn't any," said Otway from the shadow. "But, sir, when I was just warning you--" "Dashed good beginning, anyway," said Polkinghorne; "something like _Our Mutual Friend_." "Who's he?" asked Sammy. "Ingenuous youth, continue," Otway commanded. "Polky wants to hear the rest of the paragraph, and so do I." "It goes on just like a detective story," promised Sammy. "Just you listen to this:--