‘Jove!’ he murmured. ‘Jove! I nearly missed that! It makes it more like Watty, and, if so, it is conclusive! Absolutely conclusive!’ His cheek was flushed and his eyes shone. ‘That probably settles that hash,’ said the evidently delighted Inspector. He, nevertheless, continued his methodical search down the remainder of the drive and out on the road, but without further result. He looked at his watch. It was seven o’clock. ‘Two more points and I’m through,’ he said to himself in a satisfied tone. He turned into the lane and walked slowly down it, scrutinising the roadway as he had done the drive. Three separate times he stopped to examine and measure footmarks, the third occasion being close by the little gate in the hedge. ‘Number one point done. Now for number two,’ he muttered, and returning to the entrance gate stood for a moment looking up and down the road. Choosing the direction of London he walked for a quarter of a mile examining the gateways at either side, particularly those that led into fields. Apparently he did not find what he was in search of, for he retraced his steps to where a cross road led off to the left and continued his investigations along it. No better luck rewarding him, he tried a second cross road with the same result. There being no other cross roads, he returned to the lane and set out again, this time with his back to London. At the third gateway, one leading into a field on the left-hand side of the road, he stopped. It was an ordinary iron farm gate set in the rather high and thick hedge that bounded the road. The field was in grass and bore the usual building ground notice. Immediately aside the gate was a patch of low and swampy looking ground, and it was a number of fresh wheel marks crossing this patch that had caught the Inspector’s attention. The gate was not padlocked, and Burnley slipped the bolt back and entered the field. He examined the wheel marks with great care. They turned sharply at right angles on passing through the gate and led for a short distance along the side of the fence, stopping beside a tree which grew in the hedge. The hoof marks of a horse and the prints of a man’s hobnailed boots leading over the same ground also came in for a close scrutiny. It was a contented looking Burnley that turned out of the field and walked back to St. Malo. He was well satisfied with his night’s work. He had firstly succeeded in getting a lot of information out of Felix, and had further turned the latter into a friend anxious to help in the clearing up of the mystery. And though an unexpected check had arisen in the disappearance of the cask, he felt that with the information he had gained in the last three hours it would not be long before he had his hands on it again. As he approached the door Felix hailed him. ‘I saw you coming up,’ he said. ‘What luck?’ ‘Oh, not so bad, not so bad,’ returned the other. ‘I’m just going back to the city.’ ‘But the cask? What about it?’