“There is no sign of the tender that brought Ligsey here? The little boy on the barge was much more informative than he imagined! I’ll tell you what to look for, shall I? A black, canoe-shaped motor-boat which might hold three people at a pinch. Remember that--a canoe-shaped boat, say ten feet long.” “Where shall I find it?” asked the fascinated Gaylor. “At the bottom of the river,” said Mr. Reeder calmly, “and in or near it you will find a little anvil which used to keep the gate open!” Mr. Reeder had a very large acquaintance with criminals, larger perhaps than the average police officer, whose opportunities are circumscribed by the area to which he is attached; and he knew that the business of detection would be at a standstill if there were such a thing in the world as a really clever criminal. By the just workings of providence, men who gain their living by the evasion of the law are deprived of the eighth sense which, properly functioning, would keep them out of the hands of the police. He made yet another survey of the house before he left, pointed out to Gaylor something which that officer had already noticed, namely, the bloodstains on the floor and the wall of a small lobby which connected the main living room with the yard. “Naturally I saw it,” said Gaylor, who was inclined to be a little complacent. “My theory is that the fight started in the sitting-room; they struggled out into the passage----” “That would be impossible,” murmured Mr. Reeder. CHAPTER VI John Southers made a brief appearance at the Tower of London Police Court--a dazed, bewildered young man, so overwhelmed by his position that he could do no more than answer the questions put to him by the magistrate’s clerk. Gaylor had seen him earlier in the morning. “He said nothing except that he went to Attymar’s house--oh, yes, he admits that--by appointment. He says Attymar kept him waiting for some time before he opened the door, and then only allowed him to come into the lobby. He tells some rambling story about Attymar sending him to meet a man at Highgate. In fact, it’s the usual Man story.” Mr. Reeder nodded. He was not unacquainted with that mysterious man who figures in the narratives of all arrested persons. Sometimes it was a man who gave the prisoner the stolen goods in the possession of which he had been found; sometimes it was the man who asked another to cash a forged cheque; but always it was a vague Somebody who could never be traced. Half the work of investigation which occupied the attention of the detective force consisted of a patient search for men who had no existence except in the imaginations of prisoners under remand. “Did he see him?” asked Mr. Reeder. Gaylor laughed. “My dear chap, what a question!” Mr. Reeder fondled his bony chin. “Is it possible to--um--have a little chat with our friend Southers?”