"I suppose you know that these back premises of mine partly overlook Joseph Chestermarke's garden?" he whispered. "They do, anyway--you can see right over his garden and the back of his house--that is, in bits, for he's a fine lot of tall trees round his lawns. But there's a very fair view of that workshop he's built from the top storey of this old dove-cot of mine--we use it as a store-house. Come up--and mind these here broken steps--there's no rail, you see, and you could easy fall over." He led his companion up a flight of much-worn stone stairs which were built against the wall of the old dove-cot; through an open doorway twenty feet above; across a rickety floor; and up another stairway of wood, into a chamber in which was a latticed window, from which most of the glass and the woodwork had disappeared. "Now, then," he said, taking Neale to this outlook, and pointing downwards. "There you are!--you see what I mean?" Neale looked out. Joseph Chestermarke's big garden lay beneath him. As Walford had said, much of it was obscured by trees, but there was a good prospect of one side of the laboratory from where Neale was standing. That side was furnished with a door--and on the level of that door at the extreme end of the building was a window fitted with a light-coloured blind. All the other windows, as in the case of the side which Neale had seen previously from the tree on the river-bank, were high up in the walls and fitted with red material. And from the curiously shaped smoke stack in the flat roof, the same differently tinted vapours which he had noticed on the same occasion were curling up above the elms and beeches. "Now look here!" whispered the landlord. "D'ye see that one window with the whitish blind and the light behind it? I came up here, maybe half an hour ago, to see if we were out of something that's kept here, and I chanced to look out on to Joseph Chestermarke's garden. Mr. Neale!--there's a man in that room with the light-coloured blind--I saw his shadow on the blind, pass and repass, you understand, twice, while I looked. And--it's not Joseph Chestermarke!" "Could you tell?--had you any idea?--whose shadow it was?" demanded Neale eagerly. "No!--he passed in a sort of slanting direction--back and forward--just once," answered Walford. "But--his build was, I should say, about the like of John Horbury's. Mr. Neale--Horbury might be locked up there! He's a bad 'un, is Joe Chestermarke--oh, he's a rank bad 'un, my lad!--though most folk don't know it. You don't know what mayn't be happening, or what mayn't have happened in yon place! But look here--I can't stop. Me and Sam Barraclough's going off to Wymington now, in his motor--he'll be waiting at this minute. You do what I say--stop here and watch a bit. And if you see aught, go to Polke and insist on the police searching that place. That's my advice!"