“I can’t say,” I replied. “Very probably, though.” “I think it must be,” announced Sir Charles. “Baddeley was up here again yesterday, you know. I had a moment with him. I gave him a rub or two concerning the inquest.” He chuckled. “He’s a very decent fellow though, and very despondent at the moment over his lack of success in regard to, what I am informed, is now known to the world in general as ‘The Billiard Room Mystery.’” He sighed. “Such is fame, Helen! Anyhow, when I realized that he was genuinely sore and upset, I tried a different tack. I’m afraid this case would have tried a greater brain than Baddeley’s.” “Well, I for one, sincerely hope the affair will be settled,” intervened Captain Arkwright. “We are all more or less under a cloud while it remains unsolved—that’s how I feel about it. And others besides us—Hornby, Tennant, Daventry—and all the fellows that were here at the time.” “That’s very true,” agreed our host. “The whole house is under a cloud—the Cricket Week will always have this unholy reminiscence hanging over it—even after the whole tangle is cleared away—if it ever is cleared away. Of course there is less strain for all of us since Mrs. Prescott returned to London.” The door opened and Anthony came quickly in. “The car’s waiting, sir, so with your permission, I’ll get away.” He waved a good-bye and shortly afterwards we heard the car go humming away down the road. He reached the station with a good five minutes to spare before his train (as he related afterwards) so he sauntered to the booking office to get his ticket. Surely he knew that figure just in advance of him! “Good-morning, Inspector!” Baddeley wheeled quickly at the unexpected greeting. “Why, it’s Mr. Bathurst. Going to Victoria, sir?” “Yes. Are you?” “Thought of taking a run up.” He grinned. “Though I didn’t know I was coming till this morning, itself.” “Good! We’ll travel together then, Inspector.” The train rumbled in and the pair sought, with success, an empty compartment. Baddeley was in a communicative mood. “Major Hornby has left Canterbury, Mr. Bathurst. You may be interested to know that. I made inquiries last night. He’s stopping at a private hotel in the Kensington district—near Gloucester Road.” Mr. Bathurst was interested—but not tremendously. He was not aware of the Inspector’s desire to get into touch again with Major Hornby. How had the Inspector fared over the little matter of the cigar stub? “A dead end, Mr. Bathurst!” Mr. Bathurst complimented his companion upon the particular aptness of his reply, but was assured with transparent sincerity that it had been unintentional. How far had the Inspector taken the line of his investigation? “It was a commonplace brand of cigar—sold most probably in a ‘pub’—to trace it would entail a long and arduous task—and then might prove to be unilluminative. I abandoned the idea!” Then the Inspector was not at work on it this morning?