“Yes!” replied Daffy. “I met him a night or two ago, when he’d come down to the village to do his shopping. We got talking by that gate where you met me just now, and, of course, it was all about the murder. I asked him straight out if he’d had anything to do with it? He said no, worse luck, he hadn’t! And then he said more. ‘I could tell something about it,’ he said, ‘but I ain’t going to, for the thing’s done, now. I ain’t going to help the police,’ he went on. ‘Let ’em do their own work.’ That was all—he went off, then.” “Giving you no more idea than just that?” asked Blick. “He said nothing but that,” replied Daffy. “But I’m sure he knows something. Only, if you begin questioning him, for God’s sake don’t let him know I told you!” “I can get over that, easily, if you’ll just tell me this,” said Blick reassuringly. “Did Roper make threats against Guy Markenmore in anybody’s presence beside your own?—in the old days, I mean?” “Oh, he certainly did in the old days!—before I went to India,” asserted Daffy. “I’ve heard of him saying dreadful things at the Sceptre. I should think there’s many a man in the village who’s heard him.” Blick’s memory went back to the first conversation he had overheard at the Sceptre, and to the remarks of certain of the village men as to the feelings of enmity cherished by various unnamed persons of the neighbourhood against Guy Markenmore. “All right,” he said. “Your name shan’t come in. I’ve heard something of Roper’s threats and feelings elsewhere. But now, where does Roper live?” “All by himself, in a cottage amongst the woods on the other side of the Downs, behind Markenmore Hollow,” replied Daffy. “He keeps himself to himself up there—never comes down this way, except once a week to buy his groceries and meat.” “What sort of man is he?” asked Blick. “He used to be as nice a lad as there was anywhere about, till Myra ran away,” answered Daffy. “But that soured him. He’s a black, gloomy, quiet man, now—scarcely speaks, and never smiles. I don’t know if you’ll get anything out of him or not, but I’m perfectly certain he either knows something or has guessed at something.” “You’re quite sure, in your own mind, that Roper himself is innocent?” suggested Blick, looking searchingly at her. Daffy Halliwell glanced at both men and uttered a queer laugh. “Yes!” she exclaimed. “I’m certain of that!” “Why, now?” asked the Professor, speaking for the first time since the beginning of the conversation. “Why are you certain?” Daffy turned her regard more particularly to the second questioner. After looking carefully at him for a full minute, she spoke. “You look as if you’d understand—whoever you are,” she said suddenly. “And that you’re a policeman—plain-clothes or otherwise—I don’t believe! I’m certain Jim Roper didn’t kill Guy Markenmore, because if he had he’s just the man to have let it be known that he’d had his revenge! He wouldn’t have cared twopence if they’d hanged him next day!”