Again Mr. Reeder thought, staring into vacancy. “When did you see him last?” “The morning I wrote to you, or rather the morning you received the letter.” He made a little gesture of despair. “Whatever happens, Anna’s going to think I’m the biggest cad----” The telephone bell rang sharply. Mr. Reeder, with a murmured apology, took up the receiver and listened with a face that did not move. He only asked “What time?” and, after a long pause, said “Yes.” As he was hanging up the receiver, Desboyne went on: “What I should like to do is to see Attymar----” Mr. Reeder shook his head. “I’m afraid you won’t see Attymar. He was murdered between nine and ten to-night.” CHAPTER IV It was half past twelve when Mr. Reeder’s taxi brought him into Shadwick Lane, which was alive with people. A police cordon was drawn across the gate, but Gaylor, who was waiting for him, conducted him into the yard. “We’re dragging the river for the body,” he explained. “Where was it committed?” asked Mr. Reeder. “Come inside,” said the other grimly, “and then you will ask no questions.” It was not a pleasant sight that met Mr. Reeder’s eyes, though he was a man not easily sickened. The little sitting-room was a confusion of smashed furniture, the walls splashed with red. A corner table, however, had been left untouched. Here were two glasses of whisky, one full, the other half-empty. A half-smoked cigar was carefully laid on a piece of paper by the side of these. “The murder was committed here and the body was dragged to the edge of the wharf and thrown into the water,” said Gaylor. “There’s plenty of evidence of that. “We’ve taken possession of a lot of papers, and we found a letter on the mantelpiece from a man named Southers--John Southers. No address, but evidently from the handwriting a person of some education. At nine twenty-five to-night Attymar had a visitor, a young man who was admitted through the wicket gate, and who was seen to leave at twenty-five minutes to ten, about ten minutes after he arrived.” Gaylor opened an attaché case and took out a battered, cheap silver watch, which had evidently been under somebody’s heel. The glass was smashed, the case was bent out of shape. The hands stood at nine-thirty. “One of the people here recognized this as Ligsey’s--a woman who lives in the street who had pawned it for him on one occasion. It’s important, because it probably gives us the hour of the murder, if you allow the watch to be a little fast or slow. It’s hardly likely to be accurate. We have sent a description round of Southers, though it isn’t a very good one, but it will probably be sufficient. I’m having a facsimile of the writing----” “I can save you the trouble; here is the young man’s address.”