“Do I understand that you each gave Markenmore one thousand pounds, in notes, there and then?” asked Blick abruptly. “Notes?” “Why, certainly!” answered Lansbury. “That’s just what I said. Bank of England notes. To which, of course, he added a similar sum of his own—to make up the three thousand. What’s surprising you?” “Do you mean to say that all three of you were carrying large sums of money on you—like those?” asked Blick. “Walking about with as much as a thousand pounds on you?” “That’s no great sum to carry,” replied Lansbury. “Men in our line have to carry a good deal of ready money about them. A thousand pounds doesn’t take up much room in a wallet.” “There would be notes of big denominations, I suppose?” suggested the Chief Constable. “Exactly!” assented Lansbury. “Mostly so, at any rate. Notes of five hundred or two hundred each. I remember that von Eckhardstein handed over two notes of five hundred. Mine were smaller—four two hundreds, one one hundred, and two fifties, I don’t know anything of Markenmore’s—he simply put our money to his in an envelope with the rest of the papers.” “Why notes at all?” asked Blick, in whom an absolutely new train of thought was now developing. “Why could not this transaction have been settled by a cheque?” “Because the young fellow of whom I have told you—the seller—particularly wanted his money in notes,” replied Lansbury. “I said he lives in a small town between this city of yours and London. Well, Markenmore was going to call on him on his way back, hand him the cash, and the thing was settled. Do you get that?” Blick was beginning to manifest a certain restlessness. He got out of his chair, put his hands in his pockets, and began to pace the room with bent head. Suddenly he twisted round on Lansbury. “Then, when Guy Markenmore went out of that inn, the Sceptre, at three o’clock on Tuesday morning, he’d three thousand pounds, in Bank of England notes, on him?” he said. “Is that a fact?” “Sure!” replied Lansbury. “He had!” Blick gave the Chief Constable a significant look and snapped out a significant word. “Robbery!” The Chief Constable nodded. He, too, was beginning to see developments. “Looks like it,” he said. “Murdered for what he had on him. And yet——” he paused, looking at the detective with professional appeal. “Odd,” he went on, “that everything else was untouched.” “That makes things all the more significant,” observed Blick. He turned to Lansbury. “Did you see where Markenmore put the money—the banknotes—and the papers you referred to just now?” he asked. “I did! In the inner breast pocket of his coat.” “Just put them in—as one puts letters, or anything of that sort, into one’s pocket?” “Sure!” “Did he ever leave that room in which you were all three sitting until you all left it for good?” “He did not! None of us did.” “Well,” said Blick, after a pause, during which he appeared to be deep in reflection. “What happened after you’d finished this business?”