“But I say, Pat, he can’t be a complete old ass,” George pointed out. “He solved that murder all right apparently, and it seems to have been a bit of a mystery.” “That’s as may be,” said Mr. Doyle, who had not listened for two hours without gaining some suspicion of the truth. “By the way, I hope we hear from Laura to-day; and I hope also that she’s dutifully watching the gentleman’s reactions. We mustn’t lose sight of our primary experiment in all this excitement about the second one. Don’t you think——” “Hush!” said Guy, holding up a hand. They listened. Somewhere in the near distance a rumbling voice was inquiring for Mr. Nesbitt. “The Inspector,” Doyle murmured. “Let’s take him out to the scene of the body’s embarkment and watch his reactions.” Inspector Cottingham greeted them genially. “Morning, gents,” he said with an air of importance. “Morning, Mr. Doyle, sir. I’ve had a look at the _Sunday Courier_.” “Oh, yes. Satisfied, Inspector?” “They’ve done it pretty well,” the Inspector admitted. “Pretty well, yes. Barring all that clap-trap about the police, of course.” “Oh, you mustn’t take any notice of that. It’s the usual thing, you know. They must put it down to somebody’s fault. Still, on the whole it wasn’t so bad, eh? And you saw I brought your name well to the front.” “That’s right, sir,” agreed the Inspector, endeavouring to conceal his gratification. “That’s right. Well, it won’t be long before you’ll have something more to tell ’em, I’m thinking. I took the liberty, Mr. Nesbitt, sir, of poking round a bit this morning before you were up.” “Of course, Inspector,” said Guy. “It’s understood that the place is open to you whenever you like. I suppose you didn’t find anything much?” The Inspector swelled gently. “Didn’t I, then, sir? Didn’t I? Oh, yes, I did. You come along with me, gents, and I’ll show you something as’ll surprise you. Though mind you,” he added with a belated return to officialdom, “all this is ’ighly confidential. You mustn’t,” he explained kindly, “go telling people about it, if you please.” “Oh, quite so, quite so,” murmured Guy solemnly. They processed out of the house and the Inspector led the way to the bottom of the garden, his back rhetorical. “This ’ere,” said the Inspector portentously, halting at a patch of much trampled ground on the bank of the river, “is where they got out of a boat and came ashore, _and_ where they took the body on board subsequent to the murder.” “By Jove, is it really?” said Doyle. “How on earth do you know that, Inspector?” said Guy. George said nothing. Guy had said the right thing. The Inspector beamed upon him. “See all them footprints on the ground, sir?” he replied with legitimate pride. “That’s how I know. Now, you never made them footprints, did you, sir?” “Certainly not,” Guy said without truth. “Of course you didn’t. Nor did any of your friends. _They_ made ’em.” “Well I never!” said Doyle. “That’s a good piece of deduction,” said Guy.