“I have opinions, Mr. Blick,” he answered. “Yes, sir, I have opinions. I am not a betting man, sir, but I would lay money that I know what is at the bottom of this affair!” “Aye? What, now?” asked Blick. “Always glad of an idea.” “Money!” said Mr. Crawley solemnly. “Money, sir—money!” “Just—how?” enquired Blick. Mr. Crawley took off his spectacles, revealed a pair of weak, dreamy eyes, and shook his head. “I think the unfortunate young man, Mr. Guy Markenmore—queer name, sir!—was followed. Tracked!” he answered. “Tracked, sir! With money at the bottom of it—yes!” “Do you mean that he was robbed as well as murdered?” asked Blick. “No, sir—I don’t mean that at all,” said Mr. Crawley with emphatic decision. “I observed that Mr. Guy Markenmore’s property and money were left untouched. No—I mean that money is at the bottom of the mystery of his murder—that he was murdered by some evil person who will benefit by his death—in a pecuniary sense, Mr. Blick, a pecuniary sense. I may be wrong,” concluded Mr. Crawley; “I may be wholly and entirely wrong—but, on the evidence, sir, such is my opinion. And I have served on a jury—more than once.” “I shouldn’t wonder if there’s a good deal in what you say,” admitted Blick. “There’s generally some question of money at the bottom of all these things. However,” he added, as he pulled out his watch and yawned in the act, “up to now I’ve got precious little light on the subject—perhaps I’ll get a bit more tomorrow.” Then, with a laughing remark that even detectives must sleep occasionally, he bade Mr. Crawley good night and went off to bed. Mr. Crawley flung him a last remark as he left the room, accompanied by a wag of his forefinger. “Don’t forget, Mr. Blick—though a gentleman of your ability and experience needs no reminding of it, I’m sure—don’t forget that it’s always the unexpected that happens! The unexpected, sir!—Ah, there’s a great deal in the unexpected! No one knows, sir, what the morrow may not bring forth!” “Guess you’re about right there, Mr. Crawley,” asserted Blick. “You’ve hit it in one this time!” He had no idea of what the morrow would bring forth, neither then, nor when he presently fell fast asleep, nor when he woke in the morning, nor when, at eight o’clock, he climbed up into the trap in which Grimsdale was to drive him into Selcaster. Mr. Crawley, who had also breakfasted early, stood at the Inn door when Blick emerged; he was equipped for walking, and was fastening a small satchel on his shoulders. “Off?” enquired Blick. “Only for the day, sir,” replied Mr. Crawley. “I am going to have a full and glorious day on the downs—behold the receptacle of my lunch! And I am so well satisfied with the Sceptre, Mr. Blick, that I propose to make it my headquarters for the rest of my holiday, so I shall perhaps have the pleasure of seeing you tonight, sir—when,” he added in a whisper, “I trust the day may have brought forth!—profitably, eh?”