Humblethorne declined the offer, though Timmins assured him more than once it would be no trouble, not the least in the world, busy as he was what with the expected custom and one thing and another. But as Humblethorne had a rooted objection on principle to giving offence to any one who might conceivably be useful to him—or to any one else for that matter—he contrived to avoid doing so by intimating that Timmins would be of great assistance if he kept an eye upon any chance visitors to the inn. He left Timmins finally with an accession of importance which was terrifying to behold, and made his way quietly along the village to the police-station. Here an official card and a very few words sufficed to establish his identity; and as the details of the great Scrawley case had lingered on in the retentive minds of the country police long after it had been forgotten by their busier brethren he found it likely that even the sergeant would regard his appearance as a godsend. He was able quickly to satisfy himself that it was at any rate a case of suspected violence and, inwardly rejoicing at the dissipation of all his fears of boredom, desired that a telegram should be sent to headquarters asking that he should be put in charge. Humblethorne had always firmly believed in refusing to speculate upon untrustworthy data: gossip and second-hand evidence were far more often misleading than helpful; the mind was too apt to catch up and assimilate what it first received with the possible result that later and more important information attracted less attention than it deserved, at least so he had found. So he had deliberately abstained from questioning Timmins, and now, having learned that Sir Roger Penterton had indeed been found dead in a state suggesting foul play, he asked no further questions of the eager subordinate. Sergeant Birts was “with the corpse,” he was informed, and with no haste but equally no unnecessary delay Humblethorne now bent his steps in the same direction. From the social status and business importance of the dead man the case was bound to attract attention, and the thinly populated locality suggested that the tracking of the criminal would not be a specially difficult matter. Humblethorne saw himself the speedy solver of an important crime, and it was in high spirits that he passed up the drive, which ran across the park and entered the woods at the point at which he had watched it the previous evening. He emerged onto a large and beautifully kept garden which stretched on either side of the drive, and another hundred yards brought him in front of the big, modern mansion known as Salting Towers.