Superintendent Wilson’s examination of his find took him some little time. The bag was of ordinary stout canvas, most unlikely to be capable of identification. The small-shot also was of a kind which can be purchased at any gunsmith’s and at most ironmongers. To trace the criminal by means of either of these clues seemed virtually impossible. But this was not the end of the matter. Taking the shot, the superintendent carefully sifted it, and by-and-by he had separated from the pile of shot quite a number of other minute objects which had lain among it. There were several small pieces of cardboard, a few fragments of matches, some wisps of tobacco, a few balls of fluff, two pins, three small nails, and several tiny scraps of paper. Some or all of these might, of course, have got mixed up with the shot before ever it came into the murderer’s possession, and most of them were not at all likely in any case to afford a clue. But the chance was worth trying; and the inspector made a minute examination of them all. The scraps of paper alone seemed to hold out any hope of a clue. Two of them were blank: one was an indistinguishable fragment of a newspaper, apparently from the typography _The Times_: the other two, which fitted together, contained a few words written by hand. The words were unimportant, merely: “12 doz. hyacinths; 15 doz. tulips; 10 doz. sq.——” the last word being cut short by a tear. The paper was evidently part of an order, or of a memorandum for an order, for garden bulbs. But the writing—the superintendent compared it with a note which he had received from Woodman—the writing was very like. He could not say positively that they were the same. He must compare the scrap of paper with other specimens of Woodman’s hand. A second visit to Woodman’s office, in the guise of Mr. Porter, the unbusinesslike mortgage-maker, would probably afford the opportunity. Superintendent Wilson called a taxi, and drove away in the direction of Lincoln’s Inn. The Fates, watching outside that very ordinary-looking office, had a more than usually amusing time that afternoon. As Joan and Ellery, after dismissing their taxi, entered the outer office, a second taxi drew up a few doors off, just out of view. Inspector Blaikie leapt out, and after him two plain-clothes officers. The inspector rapidly posted his men. “There is no back way out of these premises,” he said, “so we have an easy job. I am going right in now, and I want you two to wait outside, and follow any of our people who come out. You know them all by sight. If Carter Woodman comes out, don’t lose sight of him on any account. But don’t detain him unless it is quite impossible to keep an eye on him. I shall probably keep my eye on the other two myself.” So saying, the inspector disappeared into the building. He had no clearly formed plan in his mind; but his suspicions had been thoroughly aroused, and he feared that Joan and Ellery had gone to warn Woodman to fly from the country.