“But it is,” insisted Gaylor. “You always keep back some juicy bit to spring on us at the last moment. It’s either your sense of drama or your sense of humour.” For a moment Reeder’s eyes twinkled, and then his face became a mask again. “I have no--um--sense of humour,” he said. He had at any rate a sense of vanity, and he was irritated that his little idiosyncrasy had been so cruelly exposed to description. He was up at six the next morning, and by half past seven was on his way to the Thames Valley. On the previous day he had telephoned to eight separate boathouses between Windsor and Henley, and he was satisfied that he had found what he wanted in the neighbourhood of Bourne End. He had telephoned to the boat-builder on whom he was calling, and he found that industrious man at work in his yard. “You’re the gentleman who wanted to know about the _Zaira_? I was going to send one of my boys up to see if she was still tied up, but I haven’t been able to spare him this morning.” “I’m rather glad you haven’t,” said Mr. Reeder. “It was a funny thing you telephoning to me when you did,” said the builder. “She’d just gone past on her way to Marlow… No, I’ve never seen her before, but I caught the name; in fact, it was because she was new in this part of the river that I noticed her. She’s a forty-foot cruiser, nearly new, and I should think she’s got pretty powerful engines. As it was, she made a bit of a wash.” He explained that after Mr. Reeder’s inquiry he had telephoned through to Marlow, had learned that the boat had not passed, and had sent one of his assistants up the towpath to locate her. “She’s lying at a private quay that runs in from the river to a big red house which has been empty for years. There’s nobody on board her, and I suppose the owner’s had permission from the agents. Are you thinking of buying her?” That view had never presented itself to Mr. Reeder. He thought for a long time, and gave the boat-builder the impression that it was only a question of price that prevented him from ownership. “Yes, it’s quite usual for people to tie up and leave their boats for months at a time, especially at a private quay like that. It’s not safe: you get a craft full of rats, especially in the winter months. These big boats cost a lot to keep up, and you couldn’t afford to have a caretaker on board.” Mr. Reeder made a very leisurely way along the towpath, stopping now and again to admire the lovely reach. Although he had explicit instructions, he might have passed the narrow canal which runs in from the river, in spite of the brick bridge across, for the stream was choked with weeds, and ran apparently into a tangle of trees and undergrowth. With some difficulty Mr. Reeder reached its bank. He then saw that the canal was brick-lined. Nevertheless, though he had this indication of its edge, he walked gingerly.