"I'd rather find it out for myself," said he, with a knowing look. "And if you want to know, I've been trying to do so. But I've looked through every local history there is--and I think the late John Christopher Raven collected every scrap of printed stuff relating to this corner of the country that's ever left a press--and I can't find any reference to such a name." "Parish registers?" I suggested. "Aye, I thought of that," he said. "Some of 'em have been printed, and I've consulted those that have, without result. And, Middlebrook, I'm more than ever convinced that yon dead man knew what he was talking about, and that there's dead and gone Netherfields lying somewhere in this quarter, and that the secret of his murder is, somehow, to be found in their ancient tombs! Aye!" He took another big pinch of snuff, and looked at me as if to find out whether or no I agreed with him. Then I let out a question. "Mr. Cazalette, have you found out anything from your photographic work on that tobacco-box lid?" I asked. "You thought you might." Much to my astonishment, he turned and shuffled away. "I'm not through with that matter, yet," he answered. "It's--progressing." I told Miss Raven of this little conversation. She and I were often together in the library; we often discussed the mystery of the murders. "What was there, really, on the lid of the tobacco-box?" she asked. "Anything that could actually arouse curiosity?" "I think Mr. Cazalette exaggerated their importance," I replied, "but there were certainly some marks, scratches, which seemed to have been made by design." "And what," she asked again, "did Mr. Cazalette think they might mean?" "Heaven knows!" I answered. "Some deep and dark clue to Quick's murder, I suppose." "I wish I had seen the tobacco-box," she remarked. "Interesting, anyway." "That's easy enough," said I. "The police have it--and all the rest of Quick's belongings. If we walked over to the police-station, the inspector would willingly show it to you." I saw that this proposition attracted her--she was not beyond feeling something of the fascination which is exercised upon some people by the inspection of the relics of strange crimes. "Let us go, then," she said. "This afternoon?" I had a mind, myself, to have another look at that tobacco-box; Mr. Cazalette's hints about it, and his mysterious secrecy regarding his photographic experiments, made me inquisitive. So after lunch that day Miss Raven and I walked across country to the police-station, where we were shown into the presence of the inspector, who, in the midst of his politeness, frankly showed his wonder at our pilgrimage. "We have come with an object," said I, giving him an informing glance. "Miss Raven, like most ladies, is not devoid of curiosity. She wishes to see that metal tobacco-box which was found on Salter Quick." The inspector laughed.