“So long as you don’t try to borrow money on it!” said Gaylor, who had a painful sense of humour. Reeder spent a long time after that searching a trade-telephone directory and ringing up various yachting agencies. He had become suddenly interested in pleasure cruisers. He drew blank for the first nine enquiries, but the tenth rewarded him. It was not difficult to secure the answers he wanted, but when he called a sticky and uncommunicative agent he used the name of Gaylor with great freedom and invariably secured the information he required. The tenth call needed this incentive, but the result was beyond expectations. Mr. Reeder spent a happy hour with his notes and a nautical almanac. By this time the two Scotland Yard men had arrived, and when soon after lunch a district messenger brought a square and heavy parcel, having the label of a west-end bookseller, they were very useful, for one of them had been for a year in the explosives department at Scotland Yard and had a sensitive ear for the faint ticking that came from within the parcel. “It’s a time bomb, but it may also have a make and break attachment.” They watched it sink heavily into a pail of water, and when, after half an hour, the Yard man took it out again, the ticking had ceased. “They’ve been getting ready for this racket for a long time,” said the detective. “That bomb wasn’t made in a hurry----” The telephone bell rang at that moment and Mr. Reeder answered it. “Is that you, Reeder?” It was Gaylor’s voice and he was speaking very quickly. “I’m coming round to pick you up. We’ve found Gelpin.” “Eh?” said Mr. Reeder. “Dead--shot through the heart. A ranger found his body in Epping Forest. Be ready.” The telephone clicked, but Mr. Reeder still stood with the receiver in his hand, a terrifying frown on his face. “Anything wrong, sir?” asked the detective. J.G. nodded. “I’m wrong: if I had the brain of a--um--great man, I should have expected this.” What “this” was he did not elucidate. A few minutes later he was one of a party of five packed in a police tender and was heading for Epping. It was nearly dark when the car pulled up by the side of a forest by-road. A ranger led them to the spot where the body lay. It was that of a man above medium height, and more than ordinarily broad of shoulder. Though George Gelpin was between fifty and sixty, he had been in life a model of a man. He had been rider to hounds, a keen cricketer, something of an athlete. “Nothing in his pockets--no identification marks of any kind. If we hadn’t got his photograph and his description--they arrived this morning from Birmingham--we should have had the devil’s job in tracing him.” One of the group they had found standing about the body was a doctor. He supplied certain data which confirmed Mr. Reeder in his opinion. But the chief confirmation came when he examined the outspread hands of the silent figure.