“Humph!” observed the Colonel, busily putting two and two together and obtaining a perfectly correct answer. He glanced at the Inspector’s face and from the look of wounded bewilderment upon its surface deduced further that his colleague, though sorrowfully regarding the possibility that one of his legs might be a little longer than it was yesterday, was by no means sure of it; in any case, he had as yet not the faintest suspicion as to the identity of the author of this outrage. The Colonel decided not to enlighten him. “About what I said just now, Cottingham, that the whole thing may be a hoax,” he said, “keep that to yourself for the time being. I may be wrong, and we must get to the bottom of it first.” “Very well, sir,” agreed the Inspector, brightening slightly before this admission of doubt. The two pairs came face to face and halted. “Mr. Nesbitt and Mr. Doyle?” said the Colonel mildly. “Let me introduce myself, Colonel Ratcliffe.” “Oh, yes?” murmured Guy politely. “I’m Doyle, this is Nesbitt,” supplied Mr. Doyle, scanning the newcomer with a hopeful eye. Any chance of a fresh victim here? If the Colonel read this thought he took prompt steps to answer it. “I’m the Chief Constable,” he said, and watched Guy’s face intently. Was a flicker of apprehension, faint yet discernible, going to pass swiftly across it? There was not a flicker. The Colonel was disappointed. As a matter of fact he had been watching the wrong face. “Oh, yes?” said Guy, without a flicker. “I’ve just been round to your place to see you, but your wife told me you were this way so we came along to meet you. I wanted to ask you a few questions about this business last night.” “Of course,” Guy said warmly. “But there’s very little I can tell you, I’m afraid. I was absent all the interesting time. Most annoying; I wouldn’t have missed it for worlds. I was completely taken in by that note.” “Really?” said the Colonel in honeyed tones, and began to put his questions. They fell into line across the road and walked back towards Dell Cottage. Whatever dark suspicions were hidden in the Colonel’s bosom, he betrayed no sign of them. Questioning Guy closely about the note, its contents, the handwriting and what had happened to it, then about his movements from the moment he left home to the time he returned to discover P. C. Graves immured in his library cupboard, he appeared perfectly satisfied with the ready answers he received. Turning his attention to Mr. Doyle (who had now had time to recover himself and no longer flickered), he posed another set of queries and again appeared to accept the answers in all good faith. So did the listening Inspector.