Mr. Reeder took a notebook from his pocket, scribbled a few lines and handed it to the detective. He looked glumly at the bloodstained room and the evidence of tragedy, followed the detective in silence, whilst Gaylor, with the aid of a powerful light, showed the telltale stains leading from the wharf, and… “Very interesting,” said Mr. Reeder. “When you recover the bodies I should like to see them.” He stared out over the river, which was covered by a faint mist--not sufficient to impede navigation, but enough to shroud and make indistinct objects thirty or forty yards away. “The barge is at Greenwich, I think,” he said, after a long silence. “Could I borrow a police launch?” One of the launches was brought in to the crazy wharf and Mr. Reeder lowered himself gingerly, never losing grip of the umbrella which no man had seen unfurled. It was a chilly night, an easterly wind blowing up the river, but he sat in the bow of the launch motionless, sphinx-like, staring ahead as the boat streaked eastwards towards Greenwich. It drew up by the side of the barge, which was moored close to the Surrey shore, and a quavering voice hailed them. “That you, Ligsey?” Mr. Reeder pulled himself on board before he replied. “No, my boy,” he said gently, “it is not Ligsey. Were you expecting him?” The youth held up his lantern, surveyed Mr. Reeder and visibly quailed. “You’re a copper, ain’t yer?” he asked tremulously. “Have you pinched Ligsey?” “I have not pinched Ligsey,” said Mr. Reeder, patting the boy gently on the back. “How long has he been gone?” “He went about eight, soon after it was dark; the guv’nor come down for him.” “The guv’nor come down for him,” repeated Mr. Reeder in a murmur. “Did you see the governor?” “No, sir; he shouted for me to go below. Ligsey always makes me go below when him and the guv’nor have a talk.” Mr. Reeder drew from his pocket a yellow carton of cigarettes and lit one before he pursued his inquiries. “Then what happened?” “Ligsey come down and packed his ditty box, and told me I was to hang on all night, but that I could go to sleep. I was frightened about being left alone on the barge----” Mr. Reeder was already making his way down the companion to Ligsey’s quarters. Evidently all the man’s kit had been removed; even the sheets on his bed must have been folded and taken away, for the bunk was tumbled. On a little swing table, which was a four-foot plank suspended from the deck above, was a letter. It was not fastened, and Mr. Reeder made no scruple in opening and reading its contents. It was in the handprint which, he had been informed, was the only kind of writing Attymar knew. “Dear Mr. Southers, If you come aboard the stuff is in the engine-room. I have got to be very careful because the police are watching.”