He closed his eyes and seemed to be communing with himself all the way through Shepherd’s Bush. Mr. Desboyne put him down at Scotland Yard, and they arranged to meet at the end of Shadwick Lane that same afternoon. “There is no further news of Ligsey,” said Gaylor when Reeder came into his office. “I should have been surprised if there had been,” said Mr. Reeder cheerfully, “partly because he’s dead, and partly because--well, I didn’t expect any communication from him.” “You know he telephoned to the chief last night?” “I shouldn’t be surprised at that,” said Mr. Reeder, almost flippantly. They talked about Johnny Southers and the case against him, and of the disappointing results of a careful search of the garden. They had dug up every bed and had done incalculable damage to Mr. Southers’ herbaceous borders. “Our information was that he had a couple of thousand pounds cached there in real money, but we found nothing.” “How much was there in the box you discovered in the tool shed?” “Oh, only a hundred pounds or so,” said Gaylor. “The big money was hidden in the garden, according to what we were told. We didn’t find a cent!” “Too bad,” said Mr. Reeder sympathetically. Then, remembering: “Do you mind if I take a young--um--friend of mine over Attymar’s house this afternoon? He is not exactly interested in the crime of wilful murder, but as he is providing for the defence of young Mr. Southers----” “I don’t mind,” said Gaylor, “but you had better ask the chief.” The Chief Constable was out, and the opportunity of meeting him was rendered more remote when Clive Desboyne rang him up, as he said, on the off-chance of getting him at Scotland Yard, and invited him out to lunch. “Anna Welford is coming. I have told her you think that Johnny’s innocence can be established, and she’s most anxious to meet you.” Mr. Reeder was in something of a predicament, but, as usual, he rose to the occasion. He instantly cancelled two important engagements to meet this, and at lunch-time he sat between a delighted girl and a rather exhilarated benefactor. The one difficulty he had anticipated did not, however, arise. She had some shopping to do that afternoon, so he went alone with Clive Desboyne to what the latter described as “the most gruesome after-lunch entertainment” he had ever experienced. CHAPTER IX A car dropped them at the end of Shadwick Lane, which had already settled down to normality and had grown accustomed to the notoriety which the murder had brought to it. There was a constable on duty on the wharf, but he was inside the gate. Mr. Reeder opened the wicket and Clive Desboyne stepped in. He looked round the littered yard with disgust visible on his face. “How terribly sordid!” he said. “I am not too fastidious, but I can’t imagine anything more grim and miserable than this.” “It was grimmer for the--um--gentleman who was killed,” said Mr. Reeder.