His friend laughed. “Oh, I do not know him so very well. He has lived here for some time. It seems that about fifty years ago his grandfather—for some unknown reason—built the church next door. Woods sort of fell into it. He has a good deal of money they say, but very few people ever go to his church. In fact he supports it himself. You see he is about as high church as you can find—all sorts of rituals and that kind of thing. They don't go very well in a place like this. Then again, he is always attacking something.” “Attacking something; what do you mean?” was Ranville's puzzled question. Carter laughed. “You do not have very many men of that type in your country. You see, Woods has but one duty in life. It is to try and make the rest of us think and do the things which he believes are right. Every little while he breaks loose—attacks Sunday baseball, dances, auto rides on Sunday. I do not know just how many of those things he is mixed up in. But I do know that he holds office in most of the more rabid reform societies in the state and nation. As he has money and makes heavy contributions, he is sort of a power in some circles. But his church does not amount to much here, mostly because no one goes. Though, after all, it is the most beautiful one we have. He is an odd duck at the best.” He rose with this and turned off the light, For a while we sat in the darkness smoking, no one speaking. I begun to feel sleepy and wanted to hint that it was time to go to bed. Once in a while the dog at my side gave a little sigh of contentment. And then, just as Carter started to suggest that it was time we retired, Ranville gave a little laugh and said: “You know I have been thinking about this murder. There is no doubt about the sensation it will make. Your police chief, it seems to me, will have far more on his shoulders than he can manage.” “For once in your life you spoke the truth,” was Carter's dry comment. “Righto,” was the cheery response, “and I have been thinking—” and the Englishman paused. “That's twice you have been thinking, Ranville,” was Carter's reply. “Suppose you tell us what you were thinking about.” “Just this. Here are the three of us, all engaged in some sort or another of criminal work. You are with the Secret Service, Carter. Pelt is the right-hand man of your big expert, Bartley, and I am with Scotland Yard. Why should we not take a hand in the case?” “What for?” growled Carter. “Good Lord, man, don't you know this is my first vacation in four years? And it's your first in some time. Of course Pelt here never does much work anyway.” I started to protest, but Ranville gave me no time to speak. “Well, Carter,” he said, “I would like to keep close to this affair. It would give me some idea of how you work in this country.”