He began to stroll towards the road. “You know, Cottingham,” he remarked, “I don’t really know what we’re going to do with this feller Foster. We could arrest him, I suppose, and charge him with contempt of police or something like that; but we’d only make laughing-stocks of ourselves if we did. So far as I can see what we’d better do is to frighten him out of his wits and let him go. I fancy _The Courier_ and Doyle between them will see to it that he doesn’t get off too lightly.” If the Inspector was going to protest vehemently against this proposed clemency, or if he then and there violently made up his mind to be no party to it, he gave no sign at the moment, for two figures had suddenly sprung into sight in the gateway between the two gardens, and were now leisurely strolling towards them. Mr. Doyle and Guy had indeed been at some pains, by means of a careful watch maintained for nearly an hour, to choose this particular moment to learn the result of their venture. “Good-morning, Colonel,” Guy began politely. “Well, any news?” The Colonel looked as innocent as a new-born infant. “News?” he repeated, as if not quite sure what the word meant. Guy was much too cunning himself to introduce the subject of footprints. He said nothing. “Would you rather I retired, Colonel?” smiled Doyle. “I know that all official persons seem to have a good deal of difficulty in talking in my presence. It’s a rotten business being a journalist. Everybody treats one with suspicion.” The Colonel laughed. “Well, I’m afraid I haven’t anything in the way of news to tell you, officially or unofficially.” “Nothing I can pass on to _The Courier_ at all? Oh, come, Colonel; try and think of something. I shall get the sack if I don’t send them something startling to-day, you know. A sensation a day makes _The Courier_ pay, is their motto.” “Well, if that’s the case,” said the Colonel, his eyes twinkling, “you can tell them this, that the police are confident of solving the mystery within twenty-four hours. That ought to keep them going for a bit.” “Then you have got some news, sir?” Mr. Doyle cried with admirable eagerness. “You haven’t unearthed some fresh clues, by any chance, have you?” The Colonel’s eyes twinkled again. “Go and look in the garden where we’ve been all the morning. Your eyes are as good as ours. By the way, all sorts of people are taking a hand in solving this mystery. Your brother-in-law is the latest recruit, Nesbitt.” “Alan? Yes, he’s as keen as mustard. He came to me this morning full of some ridiculous story. I gather that he’s decided that the Man with the Broken Nose is Mr. Foster. Why don’t you put that in _The Courier_, Doyle?” Both laughed with considerable amusement. The Colonel laughed too. Then Guy offered the Colonel an appetiser before lunch, which the latter (to Inspector Cottingham’s patent regret) refused, and they parted.