Miss Raven made an involuntary murmur of approval, and I was so much convinced of the man's good faith that I stretched out my hand to him. "Mr. Baxter!" said I, "I'm heartily glad to have that assurance from you! And whether I'm a humorist or not, I'll beg you once more to take my advice and give up that loot to the authorities--you can make a plausible excuse, and throw all the blame on that bank-manager fellow, and take my word for it, little will be said--and then you can devote your undoubtedly great and able talents to legitimate ventures!" "That would be as dull as ditch-water, Middlebrook," he retorted with a grin. "You're tempting me! But those Quicks--I'll tell you in what fashion there is a connection between their murder and ourselves, and one that would need some explanation. Bear in mind that I've kept myself posted in those murders through the newspapers, and also by collecting a certain amount of local gossip. Now--you've a certain somewhat fussy and garrulous old gentleman at Ravensdene Court--" "Mr. Cazalette!" exclaimed Miss Raven. "Mr. Cazalette is the name," said Baxter. "I have heard much of him, through the sources I've just referred to. Now, this Mr. Cazalette, going to or coming from a place where he bathed every morning, which place happened to be near the spot whereat Salter Quick was murdered, found a blood-stained handkerchief?" "He did," said I. "And a lot of mystery attaches to it." "That handkerchief belongs to my French friend," said Baxter. "I told you that he joined me at York from Berwick. As a matter of fact, for some little time just before the Salter Quick affair, he was down on this coast, posing as a tourist, but really just ascertaining if things were as I'd left them at the ruins in the wood above this cove and what would be our best method of getting the chests of stuff away. For a week or so, he lodged at an inn somewhere, I think, near Ravensdene Court, and he used sometimes to go down to the shore for a swim. One morning he cut his foot on the pebbles, and staunched the blood with his handkerchief, which he carelessly threw away--and your Mr. Cazalette evidently found it. That's the explanation of that little matter. And now for the tobacco-box." "A much more important point," said I.