The inquest that afternoon took its course as Inspector Goodall had foreshadowed. Formal identification of the body was taken by the Coroner, and almost immediately afterwards, Sergeant Clegg asked for an adjournment. The Coroner granted the Sergeant’s request without demur. Goodall attended—he told Anthony that he always made a special point of attending inquests—he had more than once during his career picked up an hitherto elusive trail from some unexpected turn an inquest had taken, and he also liked to have a good look at all the people who made it their business to be present—but Peter stayed in the house with Anthony. The latter’s first remark after lunch was surprising. “What daily papers come to Assynton Lodge, Daventry, any idea?” “You bet I have,” replied Peter. “I was only too glad of them during my enforced term of Sentinel-in-Chief—‘The Times,’ ‘The Telegraph,’ and ‘The Morning Post’—also a financial paper of some kind—I didn’t look at it.” “Good,” said Anthony—it flashed through his mind that Goodall had never informed him whether the “Telegraph” for the 30th ultimo had afforded him any special information. He would have to ask him that when he came in. “Tell me,” said Peter, “I haven’t had a chance of speaking to you quietly—how did you get on—what are the latest developments—what’s been doing?” “Matters have gone very well,” rejoined Anthony. “There is still one little point upon which I am not yet quite clear, but I hope to clear that up before many hours have passed. I also wish to amend with all apologies a statement that I made—rather carelessly perhaps—to you!” He swung one leg over the other and clasped the knee with his two hands. “I told you, Daventry, that I would introduce the police to the murderer of Mason the night-watchman—and you yourself to the murderer of Laurence P. Stewart! I was wrong!” He paused, and Peter looked up! What had gone wrong to cause Anthony Bathurst to retract a statement like that? Disillusionment on that score came quickly. “I was wrong,” repeated Anthony, “inasmuch as I shall have the pleasure, my dear Daventry, of introducing _you to both murderers_.” “I’m sure I shall be charmed,” murmured Peter, responsively. “But before that happens I should like to be enlightened a bit. What do you make of that wretched will?” “You shall see, Daventry,” responded Anthony, ignoring the last question, “my final plans are not quite complete—they will be to-night—when they are—you shall know more. I shall have to take Goodall into my confidence, too—I’ve promised him as much.” His words coincided with the sound of the latter’s voice outside the door. Anthony went to the door and beckoned to him. The Inspector came, scratching his head thoughtfully.