I had thought I might take a little stroll, but feeling lazy I returned to the veranda, where, for a while, I busied myself with a popular magazine. I was in the midst of an inane story when I was hailed by a voice from the lawn, and the dog went barking down the steps. “Say, mister, where is Mr. Carter?” It was a boy of about fourteen who hailed me—a boy with the reddest hair I have ever seen and more freckles than any boy ought to have. He stood at the bottom of the steps looking at me with a very serious expression on his face. He seemed so disappointed when I told him Carter was away that I asked him what he wanted. For a moment or so he studied me as if to decide if I could be trusted. Then, as if reassured, he came up the steps to my side. Giving me that searching look which all boys use in greeting people whom they do not know, he asked: “Are you a detective like Mr. Carter?” I assured him that I might be called something of the sort and received a rather admiring grin. Then seating himself on the top step, he patted the dog which had come to his side and said: “You know I went down to Court to-day, and I heard Jimmy Weedon tell about seeing that boat.” I judged that Weedon must be the caretaker of Warren's grounds. In reply to my question the boy said that he was; and with a laugh added: “Jimmy said that he never saw anybody on Mr. Warren's grounds yesterday, but I did.” I gave him one look, and he went on. “I thought maybe Mr. Carter might like to know what I saw. I caddy for him when he plays golf. My name is George.” He seemed to be taking a good deal of time to tell what he had seen, and I tried to hurry him up. He laughed, then said: “Well, yesterday afternoon about five o'clock I went after berries. You don't live here, so I'll tell you where I went. I went in the fields back of Mr. Warren's house. Right back of the stone wall that goes round his place is a big swamp. 'Twas a swamp once, but it's some filled in now; and across from it are a lot of berries.” He paused to pat the Airedale, so I asked: “Yes, I see what you mean; but what did you see?” “Nothing much. Did not think about it till I heard those questions in Court, those questions to Jimmy Weedon about seeing any one on the grounds. Then I got to thinking about the man I saw.” As he paused for breath, I told him to go on, and he continued: “Just about six—I know it was about six, for the whistles blew a minute or so afterwards, I saw a man climb over the wall—that stone wall of Mr. Warren's. He threw something in the bushes while he was on the wall.” “Do you know who the man was?” came my eager question. The boy was thoughtful a moment, his face screwed up in a funny gesture. Then he shook his head saying: “No, I don't. He looked like somebody I know; but I can't tell who he was.” “Do you know what he threw into the field?”