“One can live for example,” he went on, surveying the picturesque shore of Queensborough vacantly, “in a nice clean prison. I know plenty of men who would rather live in prison than at--um--Buckingham Palace--though, of course, I have no knowledge that they’ve ever been invited to Buckingham Palace. But not respectable men, men with wives and families.” Ligsey’s face was a blank. “With girls and mothers.” Ligsey winced. “They would prefer to remain outside. And, of course, they can remain outside if they’re only sufficiently sensible to make a statement to the police.” He took from his pocket-book a card and handed it almost timorously to Ligsey. “I live there,” said Mr. Reeder, “and I’ll be glad to see you any time you’re passing--are you interested in poultry?” Ligsey was interested in nothing. Mr. Reeder signalled to the boatman, who pulled the skiff alongside, and he stepped down into the boat and was rowed back to the shore. There was one who had seen him come and who watched him leave by train. When night fell, Joe Attymar rowed out to the barge and found a very perturbed lieutenant. “Old Reeder’s been here,” blurted Ligsey, but Joe stopped him with a gesture. “Want to tell the world about it?” he snarled. “Come aft.” The thickset young man followed his commander. “I know Reeder’s been here: I’ve seen him. What did he want?” Briefly Ligsey told him quite a number of unimportant details about the visit. It was not remarkable that he did not make any reference to the card or to Mr. Reeder’s invitation. “That’s done it,” said Ligsey when he had finished. “Old Reeder’s got a nose like a hawk. Asked me why we left that hole in the bricks. I’ve never had to deal with a detective before----” “You haven’t, eh?” sneered the other. “Who was that waterman who came aboard off Gravesend the other night? And why did I drop half-a-hundredweight of good stuff over board, eh? You fool! We’ve had half-a-dozen of these fellows on board, all of ’em cleverer than Reeder. Did he ask you to tell him anything?” “No,” said Ligsey instantly. Joe Attymar thought for a little time, and then: “We’ll get up the anchor. I’m not waiting for the Dutch boat,” he said. Ligsey’s sigh of relief was audible at the other end of the barge. CHAPTER III This visit of Reeder was the culmination of a series of enquiries he had conducted in the course of a few days. He turned in a short report to Scotland Yard, and went home to Brockley Road, overtaking Johnny Southers as he turned from Lewisham High Road. Johnny was not alone. “Anna and I were discussing you,” he said, as they slackened their steps to match the more leisurely pace of Mr. Reeder. “Is it possible for us to see you for five minutes?” It was possible. Mr. Reeder ushered them up to his big, old-fashioned sitting-room, inwardly hoping that the consultation would have no reference to the mysterious workings of the young and human heart. They were going to get married.