The chief constable made no objection; and the inspector paid no attention to Billingford's humorous protest against a further waste of his time. The whole party made their way down to the shore, where they found most of the idlers of the village assembled, awaiting the putting in of the boat. Armadale signalled to the two fishermen; and very soon they rowed their craft to the little pier. The police kept the crowd back while the body was being landed. Then the inspector gave the sergeant some instructions; and under the guidance of Sapcote the squad set off into the village with the body. Suddenly Billingford seemed to recognise the rowing-boat. “Snaffled my boat, have you, inspector? Well, I like the nerve of that! If I'd borrowed your handkerchief without asking you, there'd have been a bit of a stir in official circles. But when you take and steal my boat, everybody seems to think it's just the sort of thing you _would_ do. Well, brother, we'll say no more about it. _I_ never care to rub things in. Live and let live's my motto.” Armadale refused to be drawn. “We'll clean up the boat and return it in the afternoon,” he said shortly. “Now come along. I haven't time to waste.” A short walk took them to Flatt's cottage, which stood near the point of the promontory between the village and the bay in which Staveley's body had been found. The road up to it was hardly better than a rough track, and pools of water stood here and there which evidently dated farther back than the rain of the previous night. The cottage itself was neatly kept, and seemed fairly roomy. “Call your friend,” Armadale ordered, as they reached the door. Billingford complied without protest, and almost at once they heard steps approaching. As the door opened, Wendover received a shock. The man who stood before them was almost faceless; and his eyes looked out from amid a mass of old scars which gave him the appearance of something inhuman. The hand which held the door open lacked the first two fingers. Wendover had never seen such a wreck. When he took his eyes from the distorted visage, it was almost a surprise to find that the rest of the form was intact. The new-comer stared at them for a moment. His attitude showed the surprise which his face could not express. “What made you bring this gang here, Billingford?” he demanded. “Visitors are barred, you know that quite well.” He made a suggestive gesture towards his twisted face. Armadale stepped forward. “You're Mr. Fordingbridge, aren't you?” he asked. The apparition nodded, and fixed its eyes on him without saying anything. “I'm Inspector Armadale. I suppose you know that your friend Staveley was murdered last night?” Derek Fordingbridge shook his head. “I heard there had been a murder. I believe they borrowed the boat from here to use in bringing the body in. But I didn't know it was Staveley. Who did it?” “Weren't you surprised that he didn't come home last night?” the inspector demanded.