O'Connor was quite willing to oblige. “Carter is a big chap by all accounts, and Erskine's friend. Why should he choose a place so certain to be discovered as a hotel bedroom? Why not take Erskine for a run in a motor, stun him, and drop him into a pond? I can't think he's such a fool as not to have been able to make some better opportunity than that wardrobe.” “Fit of passion, sir?” “But,” objected O'Connor, “why the marks of tugging on Erskine's collar which the photo shows?” When Watts had taken a belated departure, O'Connor looked at his friend. “So they're crooks. I shouldn't have thought that somehow. Your account of the honest marks of wear on Erskine's wardrobe made me put him down as poor but honest.” Pointer only smoked on, his hands clasped behind his neck. “D'ye think some of your light-fingered friends have welcomed their brethren from across the ocean and the lot have fallen out?” “This doesn't look like the work of anyone I can call to mind at the moment.” Pointer ruminated over the masterpieces he had come across in the past. “Still you never know,” he wound up. During the night a cable from Calgary arrived and was duly waiting on his table at the Yard. “Calgary. Robert Erskine, Scotsman. Inherited largest ranch here, Four Winds by name, from his uncle, Ian Erskine, twelve years ago. Sold it seven years ago at a loss and moved to Toronto. Reputation of uncle and nephew of the best in every way.” “John Carter. Frequent visitor at Four Winds. Prospector and son of a Toronto Prospector. Good repute.” Pointer meditated some time over this before he filed it. Another cable was sent to Toronto asking for full particulars of the warrant out against the two men, and the photos of both were duly posted for identification. Mr. Russell dropped in on the Chief Inspector at lunch, but beyond a question as to whether he had ever heard that Robert Erskine was interested in any business Pointer kept his own counsel. The solicitor was evidently unaware that young Erskine did not still own the ranch. “So you didn't get anything helpful by coming to Paris?” the solicitor continued, as the two men turned in for a cup of tea. He himself had been prostrated by the rough crossing the night before, and had hardly been able to exchange a couple of words with his companion in the crowded railway carriage. “Except a general idea of the deceased's character as shown in his letters.” “Ah, yes, true. I had a long conversation with Mrs. Erskine and a very trying one.” “How so trying?” “Aye, women, even the best of them shouldn't be trusted with money.” The Scotsman drank his tea sternly. “She wants everything sold out and put into an annuity.” “She” of course referred to Mrs. Erskine. The Chief Inspector turned the matter over carefully to see whether he could extract any grist for his mills from it. “Well, why not?”