Guy turned hastily away to screen his face, and Mr. Foster looked pathetically from one to the other of his captors. Was it _very_ unpleasant, being hanged? And how upsetting for Agatha. In the background Alan hovered ecstatically. With an effort Guy regained control of his face and voice. “Are you going to arrest him?” he managed to ask the Colonel. The Colonel did not reply directly. “Take him away, Inspector,” he said first in an official voice, and watched their progress out of the back door. Then he turned to Guy. “That friend of yours, _The Courier_ man, Doyle, he’s gone back to London, hasn’t he?” he asked, with apparent irrelevance. “Yes,” said Guy, somewhat mystified. “Well, if you’re in communication with him tell him about this little scene by all means, but at the same time tell him not to use it in _The Courier_.” “Not to use it?” repeated Guy, now completely bewildered. “Yes, he’ll thank me for it later. It’s—well, you can say I want it kept secret, and you can add that that’s an order. If I’m not very much surprised he’ll understand.” “Will he?” said Guy, who was not inclined to agree. The Colonel was half-way to the door. He turned back for a moment. “If he doesn’t,” he added over his shoulder, “you can tell him also ‘Because of the Crown Prince.’” And suppressing a chuckle, the Colonel vanished after the Inspector and Mr. Foster. On second thoughts the Colonel had decided to say nothing to Guy about the whole business being a hoax. He would have to think things over a little more officially first before allowing the news to be promulgated that the police had been trapped into investigating a mare’s nest for the last forty-eight hours; and perhaps he had better consult a magistrate in Abingchester too. Colonel Ratcliffe had not held the post of Chief Constable very long, and he was uncertain as to the correct method of procedure on discovering his official leg, and the official legs of those under him, to have been successfully pulled. Guy stared after him. The Colonel’s manner had been mysterious in the extreme. He seemed to have no doubt of Mr. Foster’s guilt, but why had he given that order about not mentioning the arrest in _The Courier_? Decidedly he had given the impression that there was a good deal more in his mind than he was willing to speak about. Guy rubbed his chin. _What_ was in the Colonel’s mind? He took a half-step in the direction of the hall and the telephone, then halted again. It was no good ringing up _The Courier_ offices and leaving a message. Doyle had said that he would be in the building from nine to ten, in case anything happened; he would wait till then. And one thing was very certain: Doyle would have to come back to Duffley to-morrow morning as early as possible, whether _The Courier_ wanted him to do so or not. Something was in the wind, and the two of them had got to lay their heads together and find out what it was.