One fine morning, at about ten o'clock, a motor-car, crossing the village square at full speed, broke down and came to a dead stop. The driver, after a careful inspection, declared that the repairs would take some little time, whereupon the owner of the car resolved to wait at the inn and lunch. He was a gentleman on the right side of forty, with close-cropped side-whiskers and a pleasant expression of face; and he soon made himself at home with the people at the inn. Of course, they told him the story of the Goussots. He had not heard it before, as he had been abroad; but it seemed to interest him greatly. He made them give him all the details, raised objections, discussed various theories with a number of people who were eating at the same table and ended by exclaiming: "Nonsense! It can't be so intricate as all that. I have had some experience of this sort of thing. And, if I were on the premises...." "That's easily arranged," said the inn-keeper. "I know Farmer Goussot.... He won't object...." The request was soon made and granted. Old Goussot was in one of those frames of mind when we are less disposed to protest against outside interference. His wife, at any rate, was very firm: "Let the gentleman come, if he wants to." The gentleman paid his bill and instructed his driver to try the car on the high-road as soon as the repairs were finished: "I shall want an hour," he said, "no more. Be ready in an hour's time." Then he went to Farmer Goussot's. He did not say much at the farm. Old Goussot, hoping against hope, was lavish with information, took his visitor along the walls down to the little door opening on the fields, produced the key and gave minute details of all the searches that had been made so far. Oddly enough, the stranger, who hardly spoke, seemed not to listen either. He merely looked, with a rather vacant gaze. When they had been round the estate, old Goussot asked, anxiously: "Well?" "Well what?" "Do you think you know?" The visitor stood for a moment without answering. Then he said: "No, nothing." "Why, of course not!" cried the farmer, throwing up his arms. "How should you know! It's all hanky-panky. Shall I tell you what I think? Well, that old Trainard has been so jolly clever that he's lying dead in his hole ... and the bank-notes are rotting with him. Do you hear? You can take my word for it." The gentleman said, very calmly: "There's only one thing that interests me. The tramp, all said and done, was free at night and able to feed on what he could pick up. But how about drinking?" "Out of the question!" shouted the farmer. "Quite out of the question! There's no water except this; and we have kept watch beside it every night." "It's a spring. Where does it rise?" "Here, where we stand." "Is there enough pressure to bring it into the pool of itself?" "Yes." "And where does the water go when it runs out of the pool?"