“I shouldn’t wonder,” agreed Mr. Fransemmery. “But then, between you and me, there’s a good deal else that I’ve wondered about ever since I heard Mrs. Tretheroe’s evidence!” “What, for instance?” asked Blick. “Nothing, in any particular instance,” replied Mr. Fransemmery. “I have wondered, generally, if Mrs. Tretheroe told all she might have told; if she was candid, open, ingenuous, truthful. Between ourselves, I think she’s a vain, selfish, silly woman—and as stupid as such a woman always is!” “Stupidity of that sort is very often allied with a good deal of cunning, isn’t it, though?” suggested Blick. “She’s struck me—what bit I’ve seen of her—as the sort of woman who could play a game.” “I shouldn’t wonder!” agreed Mr. Fransemmery. “Then, the question for me is—is she playing any game now, and if so, what is it?” said Blick. “And has von Eckhardstein anything to do with it?” “Ah!” exclaimed Mr. Fransemmery. “That’s still another question!” “Nice mystery altogether!” muttered Blick. “Black as this lane, my friend,” said Mr. Fransemmery, as they descended into the deep and narrow cutting which, high-banked and tortuous, wound its way upward to the summit of the downs between The Warren and Woodland Cottage. “And you’ll want something more than starlight by which to find your way in it! Up to now, I believe, you’ve scarcely got hold of the ghost of a clue?” “Got no more than a very slender thread, which mayn’t be a thread at all,” answered Blick, thinking of the information that Lansbury had given him. “No!—so far, Mr. Fransemmery, I’ve very little, indeed, to work on. I—what’s your dog up to?” The Airedale terrier, who had preceded the two men into the darkness of the lane, had run on before them to the spot whereat he had shown inordinate signs of restlessness and curiosity when Mr. Fransemmery was on his way to Mrs. Braxfield. He was now whimpering again, and as they came near the bushes, they heard him tearing and scratching at the soil; the whimpering presently changed to growling. “Now I shouldn’t wonder if that is a badger!” remarked Mr. Fransemmery. “I have had an idea that there were badgers, or a badger, in this lane, and hereabouts, for some time; I fancied that I detected footprints in the loose, sandy soil. If only I had a lantern, I could soon tell, for a badger’s burrow is easily distinguishable from a fox’s hole.” Blick put a hand in his coat pocket and produced something which, under pressure of his fingers, gave a sharp metallic click, followed by a steady glare of light. “There you are!” he said. “Electric torches are better than lanterns. Where is he?” Mr. Fransemmery forced aside the bushes behind which the Airedale was busy, and revealed him at work, digging furiously at a cavity in the bank. The terrier turned his head, blinked at the light, and went on with his task more eagerly. Mr. Fransemmery sniffed.