Sir Clinton gave a last glance round the rock plateau; then, followed by his companions, he retreated to the upper sands. Cargill, thus left alone, hovered uncertainly for a moment or two, and finally sat down on the groyne, looking idly at the sand around his feet. Evidently he understood that he was not wanted, but it looked as though he had still some faint hopes of being allowed to join the party. “We must carry all this stuff up to the car,” Sir Clinton reminded his companions. “I'll take some of the casts; you can manage the rest, inspector. Wendover, the blow-lamp and the rest of the candles are your share, if you don't mind.” When they reached the car, he motioned Wendover into the driving-seat and signed to the inspector to get in also. “I'm going for a short walk along the road towards the hotel,” he explained. “Let me get a bit ahead, squire, and then follow on, slowly. I'm going to have a look at that extra wheel-track at close quarters. It won't take more than a moment or two.” He moved along the road to a point just before the groyne, and halted there for a few moments, examining the faint track left by the turning of a car. Then he continued his walk towards the hotel, scrutinising the ground as he went. At the end of a few hundred yards he halted; and, when Wendover brought up his car, Sir Clinton got into it, taking the seat in front. “There are really two tracks there,” he explained, as he closed the door. “Down by the beach, both of them are very faint, and I noticed rain-marks on top of them. Then, just a few dozen yards back from here, one of the tracks is strongly marked, while the second track remains faint. It's so lightly marked that I expect you missed it this morning, squire. Now what do you make of that?” Wendover considered for a few moments. “Somebody came down the road in a car before the rain and made the light track,” he suggested. “Then he turned and came back in this direction; and when he had got this length the rain came on, and his tracks after that were in mud and not in dry dust, so they'd be heavier. That it?” “I expect so,” Sir Clinton acquiesced. “No, don't go on yet. I've something to show you before we go farther. I didn't care to produce it before all that audience down at the rock.” He put his hand into his pocket and pulled out the piece of note-paper found on Staveley's body. Wendover leaned over and examined it as the chief constable unfolded it. “Hullo! The hotel heading's on the paper, Clinton,” he exclaimed. “This is getting a bit near home, surely.” “It is,” said Sir Clinton drily. “I'll read it, inspector. It's short and very much to the point, apparently. The date on it is yesterday. This is how it goes. There's no ‘Dear So-and-so’ or anything of that sort at the beginning.