“Quite. If it wasn’t the club, I suppose the murderer carried the weapon away.” “I suppose he may have done, as you did not find it. You are sure there was no object in the room that might have been used as a weapon.” “None at all, I think. The stick belonging to Walter Brooklyn could not have made the wound, I am told—nor any of the other sticks for that matter. It looked much more like a case of sand-bagging, now I think of it in this light.” “Well, inspector, I’m not satisfied, and I feel sure you will not object if I do a bit of investigation on my own.” “Are you taking the case out of my hands, sir?” “No, no. I want you to carry on, and especially to find out what these young people—Miss Cowper and Ellery—are doing. There are only two or three points on which I want to satisfy myself personally.” “Very well, sir,” said the inspector; and he left feeling—and looking—more than a little aggrieved. Superintendent Wilson, in his rare personal appearances in the work of detection, had one great advantage, he was not known by sight, even to most of the habitual criminal class. He had, therefore, on this occasion at least, no need to disguise himself. He merely went to Carter Woodman’s office as a prospective client, who had been strongly recommended to him. He wanted both to have a look at Woodman himself and to see whether anything more could be got out of Moorman on the question of the stick. Woodman was engaged with a client when he arrived, and he had a favourable chance of making friends with the old clerk before he was shown into the inner office. He used his opportunity for that alone, making no attempt to lead the conversation towards the business on which he had come. In a very few minutes he was shown into Woodman’s private office.