“It comes to this,” continued the detective, turning to the Professor. “We’ve heard now of a man who was in Guy Markenmore’s company the evening before the murder, and who knew that Guy would be on the downs at four o’clock next morning. Who is that man?” “Probably the man his clerk told me about,” answered the Professor. “That’s my opinion, anyway.” “Well, let’s be going,” said Blick. “I’ll see you again, Roper—you’ve no doubt put us on the track of something.” But the Professor lingered. “Look here, my man,” he said, turning to the woodman. “You know the Mitre Hotel, at Selcaster? Very good—I’m staying there. Come and see me there, tonight; there’s my card—ask for me. If you want to emigrate I’ll find you the money. Tonight, mind, any time you like after eight o’clock.” He nudged Blick’s elbow and hurried him away out of the wood before Roper could thank him, walking at a great pace until he and his companion were once more on the hill-side. “There’s a man into whose soul the iron has entered, my friend!” he said. “Poor fellow! poor fellow! I feel deeply and sincerely sorry for him. Seven years lonely brooding over his love affair—terrible!” “I fear you have a very deep vein of sentiment, sir!” observed Blick. “I’m sorry for the chap, too; he evidently took Myra’s defection pretty badly to heart. But I’ll tell you what I think, Professor—I think Master Roper ought to be feeling very thankful that I didn’t request him to march down to Selcaster police-station with me! If I were not a believer in psychology as a science I should certainly have desired his presence there. But I sized him up, and watched him closely, and I think I understand his curious mental processes, and I believe he told us the truth. I only wish he’d come and confided in me a week since!” “Do you know, I rather think that I should have done precisely what he did, had I been in his case?” remarked the Professor ingenuously. “I sympathized with the unhappy man all through. But now, my dear fellow—this mysterious person? How are you going to get on his trail?” “The queer thing about that,” observed Blick, “is this—at least, it’s a surface difficulty. Taking Roper’s story to be true—as I do—here’s a strange man, a Londoner by his speech, says Roper, by which he probably means a man of the educated classes, on the downs with Guy Markenmore, late on Monday evening. Who is he? Did he come down with Markenmore from London? Did they meet in the train? Did they foregather on the way between Mitbourne and Markenmore? We don’t know. But there are more important questions than any of these—for one, where was that man going? Where did he go when he and Markenmore parted?—for another. And for a third, and most important one—if he’s the man who shot Guy Markenmore next morning, where had he been in the meantime? Where did he spend Monday night? It couldn’t have been far away from hereabouts, if he laid in wait for his victim at four o’clock next morning!”