“There must be a third, and he’s the cleverest of the lot,” he said, speaking his thoughts aloud. “I know the lot—Wal Cormon, George the Rat, Billy Harp, Ike Velleco, Pheeny Moore—and I’ll take an oath that it wasn’t any of them. This is master work, my lord. It’s the work of a great artist such as we seldom meet nowadays. And I fancy I know who he is.” Lord Farmley, who had listened as patiently as he could to this rhapsody, stalked from the library soon after, leaving the men alone. “Captain,” said Elk, walking after the peer and closing the door, “do you happen to know where old Bennett was last night?” Elk’s tone was careless, but Dick Gordon felt the underlying significance of the question, and for a moment, realizing all that lay behind the question, all that it meant to the girl, who was dearer to him than he had guessed, his breath came more quickly. “He was out most of the night,” he said. “Miss Bennett told me that he went away on Friday and did not return until this morning at daybreak. Why?” Elk took a paper from his pocket, unfolded it slowly and adjusted his glasses. “I’ve had a man keeping tag of Bennett’s absences from home,” he said slowly. “It was easy, because the woman who goes every morning to clean his house has a wonderful memory. He has been away fifteen times this past year, and every time he has gone there’s been a first-class burglary committed somewhere!” Dick drew a long breath. “What are you suggesting?” he asked. “I’m suggesting,” replied Elk deliberately, “that if Bennett can’t account for his movements on Saturday night, I’m going to pull him in. Saul Morris I’ve never met, nor young Wal Cormon either—they were before I did big work. But if my idea is right, Saul Morris isn’t as dead as he ought to be. I’m going down to see Brother Bennett, and I think perhaps I’ll be doing a bit of resurrecting!” CHAPTER IX THE MAN WHO WAS WRECKED JOHN BENNETT was working in his garden in the early morning when Elk called, and the inspector came straight to the point. “There was a burglary committed at the residence of Lord Farmley on Saturday night and Sunday morning. Probably between midnight and three o’clock. The safe was blown and important documents stolen. I’m asking you to account for your movements on Saturday night and Sunday morning.” Bennett looked the detective straight in the eyes. “I was on the London road—I walked from town. At two o’clock I was speaking with a policeman in Dorking. At midnight I was in Kingbridge, and again I spoke to a policeman. Both these men know me because I frequently walk to Dorking and Kingbridge. The man at Dorking is an amateur photographer like myself.” Elk considered. “I’ve a car here; suppose you come along and see these policemen?” he suggested, and to his surprise Bennett agreed at once. At Dorking they discovered their man; he was just going off duty.