I cannot exactly state when my own suspicions concerning Dr. Ingham were aroused. I rather think it was on the occasion of his first visit to me. His obvious anxiety to anticipate the arrival of Joan Ralph, Alsby’s statement, my talk with the chemist, and Edelsheim’s narrative all pointed to one conclusion: obviously here was a confidence trick on a large scale, and, after I had seen the survey map of the district in which Grayne Hall is situated, and made a few enquiries about the old castle, the possibility that this was a case of wholesale kidnapping became a certainty. I had to be sure that “Dr. Ingham” was Kennedy, and on the last occasion we met in my office, I was compelled, I regret to say, to slander his mother. Though he was livid with rage, he kept control of himself, but he showed me enough to satisfy me that my suspicions were correct. I tried the same trick at Grayne Hall, but I only did it after lighting a magnesium match, which was a signal agreed upon between myself and the police who, I knew, were outside the house, that it was time for them to make a move. Underneath he wrote: Casius Kennedy, convicted of murder at the C.C.C. Executed at Pentonville Prison. (Elford--executioner.) Elsa Kennedy, convicted at C.C.C. Life. Thomas J. Pentafard, convicted at C.C.C. Criminal conspiracy and accessory to murder. Life. Leonard Polenski, convicted at C.C.C. Criminal conspiracy and accessory to murder. Life. THE CASE OF JOE ATTYMAR CHAPTER I In the dusk of the evening the rower brought his skiff under the overshadowing hull of the Baltic steamer and rested on his oars, the little boat rising and falling gently in the swell of the river. A grimy second officer looked down from the open porthole and spat thoughtfully into the water. Apparently he did not see the swarthy-faced waterman with the tuft of grey beard, and as apparently the waterman was oblivious of his appearance. Presently the unshaven man, with the faded gold band on the wrist of his shabby jacket, drew in his head and shoulders and disappeared. A few seconds later a square wooden case was heaved through the port and fell with a splash in the water. For a moment one sharp corner was in sight, then it sank slowly beneath the yellow flood. A small black buoy bobbed up and the waterman watched it with interest. To the buoy was attached a stout cord, and the cord was fastened to the case. He waited, moving his oars slowly, until the buoy was on the point of being sucked out of sight--then, with a turn of his wrist, he hooked an oar under the cord--literally hooked, for at the end of the short blade was a little steel crook. Pushing the boat forward, he reached for the buoy and drew this into the stern sheets, fastened the cord round a wooden pin, and, lifting his oars, allowed the tide to carry him under the steamer’s stern. Anchored in midstream was a dingy-looking barge and towards this he guided the skiff.