"Why," replied Brereton, laughing a little, "I mean this--it looks as if the murderer had taken his time about his proceedings!--after Kitely was killed. The pocket-book, as you know, was picked up close to the body. It was empty--as we all saw. Now what can we infer from that but that the murderer actually stopped by his victim to examine the papers? And in that case he must have had a light. He may have carried an electric torch. Let's try and reconstruct the affair. We'll suppose that the murderer, whoever he was, was so anxious to find some paper that he wanted, and that he believed Kitely to have on him, that he immediately examined the contents of the pocket-book. He turned on his electric torch and took all the papers out of the pocket-book, laying the pocket-book aside. He was looking through the papers when he heard a sound in the neighbouring coppices or bushes. He immediately turned off his light, made off with the papers, and left the empty case--possibly completely forgetting its existence for the moment. How does that strike you--as a theory?" "Very good, sir," replied the superintendent. "Very good--but it is only a theory, you know, Mr. Brereton." Brereton rose, with another laugh. "Just so," he said. "But suppose you try to reduce it to practice? In this way--you no doubt have tradesmen in this town who deal in such things as electric torches. Find out--in absolute secrecy--if any of them have sold electric torches of late to any one in the town, and if so, to whom. For I'm certain of this--that pocket-book and its contents was examined on the spot, and that examination could only have been made with a light, and an electric torch would be the handiest means of providing that light. And so--so you see how even a little clue like that might help, eh?" "I'll see to it," assented the superintendent. "Well, it's all very queer, sir, and I'm getting more than ever convinced that we've laid hands on the wrong man. And yet--what could, and what can we do?" "Oh, nothing, at present," replied Brereton. "Let matters develop. They're only beginning." He went away then, not to think about the last subject of conversation, but to take out his own pocket-book as soon as he was clear of the police-station, and to write down that entry which he had seen in Kitely's memoranda:--_M. & C. v. S. B. cir. 81_. And again he was struck by the fact that the initials were those of Mallalieu and Cotherstone, and again he wondered what they meant. They might have no reference whatever to the Mayor and his partner--but under the circumstances it was at any rate a curious coincidence, and he had an overwhelming intuition that something lay behind that entry. But--what? That evening, as Bent and his guest were lighting their cigars after dinner, Bent's parlour-maid came into the smoking-room with a card. Bent glanced from it to Brereton with a look of surprise.