"Well, this," replied Mr. Armitstead: "In one of the London newspapers there was a plan, a rough sketchmap of the passage in which the murder took place. I gathered from it that on each side of that passage there are yards or gardens, at the backs of houses--the houses on one side belong to some terrace; on the other to the square--Markendale Square--in which Ashton lived. Now, may it not be that the murder itself was actually committed in one of those houses, and that the body was carried out through a yard or garden to where it was found?" "Ashton was a big and heavy man," observed Viner. "No one man could have carried him." "Just so!" agreed Mr. Armitstead. "But don't you think there's a probability that more than one man was engaged in this affair! The man in the muffler, hurrying away, may have only been one of several." "Aye!" said Mr. Pawle, with a deep sigh. "There's something in all that. It may be as you say--a conspiracy. If we only knew the real object of the crime! But it appears to be becoming increasingly difficult to find it.... What is it?" he asked, as his clerk came into the room with a card. "I'm engaged." The clerk came on, however, laid the card before his employer, and whispered a few words to him. "A moment, then--I'll ring," said Mr. Pawle. He turned to his two companions as the clerk retired and closed the door, and smiled as he held up the card. "Here's another man who wants to tell me something about the Ashton case!" he exclaimed. "It's been quite a stroke of luck having that paragraph in the newspapers, asking for information from anybody who could give it!" "What's this?" asked Viner. "Mr. Jan Van Hoeren, Diamond Merchant," read Mr. Pawle from the card, "583 Hatton Garden--" "Ah!" Mr. Armitstead exclaimed. "Diamonds!" "I shouldn't wonder if you're right," remarked Mr. Pawle. "Diamonds, I believe, are to Hatton Garden what cabbages and carrots are to Covent." He touched his bell, and the clerk appeared. "Bring Mr. Van Hoeren this way," he said. There entered, hat in hand, bowing all round, a little fat, beady-eyed man, whose beard was blue-black and glossy, whose lips were red, whose nose was his most decided feature. His hat was new and shining, his black overcoat of superfine cloth was ornamented with a collar of undoubted sable; he carried a gold-mounted umbrella. But there was one thing on him that put all the rest of his finery in the shade. In the folds of his artistically-arranged black satin stock lay a pearl--such a pearl as few folk ever have the privilege of seeing. It was as big as a moderately sized hazel nut, and the three men who looked at it knew that it was something wonderful. "Take a chair, Mr. Van Hoeren," said Mr. Pawle genially. "You want to tell me something about this Ashton case? Very much obliged to you, I'm sure. These gentlemen are both interested--considerably--in that case, and if you can give me any information that will throw any light on it--"