“Ay, Furneaux. I remember now. He worried old Tomlin last night about that box, which is kept in the loft over the club-room. So Tomlin and I, and Hobbs, just to satisfy ourselves, went up there as soon as Furneaux left to-day. And, what do you think? The box was unlocked, though I locked it myself, and have the key; and a hat and wig and whiskers I wore when we played a skit on ‘Trilby’ were missing. If that isn’t a clew, what is?” “A clew!” repeated the bewildered Robinson. “Yes. I’m telling you, though I kept dark before the other fellows. Didn’t you say Grant’s cheek was bleeding on Tuesday morning?” “I did.” “Well, the whiskers were held on by wires that slip over the ears. One wire was sharp as a needle. I know, because it stuck into a finger more than once. Why shouldn’t it scratch a man’s cheek, and the cut open again next morning?” “By jing, you’ve got your knife into Mr. Grant, an’ no mistake,” commented Robinson. “You yourself gave him a nasty jab at the inquest,” sneered Elkin. “I was just tellin’ the facts.” “So am I. I think you ought to know about that hat and the other things. I would recognize them anywhere. Furneaux had something up his sleeve, too, or he wouldn’t have pumped Tomlin... Woa, boy! So long, Robinson! I must put this youngster into his stall.” “I’ll wait, Mr. Elkin,” said Robinson solemnly. “I want to have a word with you.” The policeman was glad of the respite. He needed time to collect his thoughts. The story of the dinner-party and its excitement disposed completely of Elkin’s malicious theory with regard to Grant, but, since the horse-dealer was minded to be communicative, it would be well to encourage him. “Come in, and have a drink,” said Elkin, when the colt had been stabled. “No, thanks—not when I’m on duty.” Elkin raised his eyebrows sarcastically. He could not possibly guess that Robinson was adopting Furneaux’s pose of never accepting hospitality from a man whom he might have to arrest. “Well, blaze away. I’m ready.” The younger man leaned against a gate. He looked ill and physically worn. “Your business has kept you out late of a night recently, you say, Mr. Elkin,” began the other, speaking as casually as he could contrive. “Now, it might help a lot if you can call to mind anyone you met on the roads at ten or eleven o’clock. For instance, last night—” Elkin laughed in a queer, croaking way. “Last night my mare brought me home. I was decidedly sprung, Robinson. Glad you didn’t spot me, or there might have been trouble. What between the inquest, an’ no food, an’ more than a few drinks at Knoleworth, I’d have passed Owd Ben himself without seeing him, though I believe I did squint in at _The Hollies_ as I went by.” “What time would that be?” “Oh, soon after eleven.” “Sure.” “I can’t be certain to ten minutes or so. The pubs hadn’t closed when I left Knoleworth. What the devil does it matter, anyhow?”