The doctor, without hesitation, now explained that he had been called to attend a Mr. Rogers, an artist, who was staying at Hinxman’s farm, off the Uxley Road. On the evening of the tragedy Mr. Rogers went out on Bess, a mare belonging to the farm, and, not having returned by ten, some anxiety was felt concerning him, the mare possessing a very bad reputation. At about a quarter-past ten the animal returned, riderless, and Rogers was brought home later, in an insensible condition, by two farm hands, having been found beside the road some distance from the farm. For some time Mr. Rogers lay in a critical condition, suffering from concussion. Finally, a change for the better set in, but the patient was found to have lost his memory. “Last Saturday,” added the doctor, “a specialist whom I had invited to come down from London performed a successful operation.” “Ah,” rumbled Moris Klaw, “so we can see him?” “Certainly. He is quite convalescent. His memory returned to him completely last night.” In a state of uncertainty which can well be imagined, we arrived at, and entered, Hinxman’s farm. Seated in the shade of the veranda, smoking his pipe, was a bronzed young man who wore a bandage about his head. He was chatting to the farmer when we arrived. Moris Klaw walked up the steps beside Doctor Madden. “Good day, Mr. Farmer,” he said, amiably. A rosy-cheeked girl face was thrust from an open window. “Good day, Miss Farmer!” He removed the brown bowler. He turned to the bronzed young man. “Good day, _Sir Roland Crespie!_” V When Grimsby and I had somewhat recovered from the shock of this dramatic meeting, and Sir Roland, Madden, and Moris Klaw had talked together for a few moments, said Moris Klaw: “And now Sir Roland will tell us all about the death of Mr. Heidelberger!” Inspector Grimsby was all eyes when the young baronet began: “You must know, then, that I, together with three others, have been engaged, since my departure from England, in a mining venture in West Africa. Up to the time when I left, and, for the sake of my health, came to England, our efforts had been attended by only moderate success. Thus, on arriving in Cresping and taking lodgings with Hinxman as ‘Mr. Rogers’--for the circumstances under which I left home made me desirous of remaining unknown in the village--I, on learning that my father had just died and that the Hall had fallen into Heidelberger’s hands, realized that my slender capital would not allow of my buying him out. The facts of the case came as a great shock to me, and, without revealing my identity--the beard which I had cultivated in Africa, but which the doctors have removed, acting as an effectual disguise--I made inquiries concerning Ryder. I had little difficulty in finding him, and he alone, in Cresping, knew who I really was.