Still laughing at himself, Anthony turned to his left and walked upstream, his eyes on the soft clay at the river’s edge. When he had passed by fifty yards the house on the other side, he found two sandal-marks. They were deep; the clay gave a perfect impression. He was surprised but still unbelieving. Then, as he stood for a moment looking down into the dark water only a few inches below the level of his feet, a gleam of white caught his eye. Curious, he squatted, pulled up his sleeve and thrust his arm into the water, groping about the ledge which jutted out from the bank some inches below the surface. His fingers found what they sought. He rose to his feet and examined his catch. A small canvas bathing-sandal. From its uppers dangled a broken piece of tape. The sole was of rope. “Benjamin,” said Anthony to his pipe, “I’m right. And I’ve never been so surprised in my life. It looks to _me_, my lad, as if A. R. Gethryn _may_ have been wrong and Brother Boyd right. Where’s my ‘insider’ now?” 2 Anthony had crossed the river. Behind him lay Marling’s wooden bridge, before him the house which must shelter the swimming lady. In his hip-pocket rested the sandal, wrung free of some of its wetness and wrapped in a piece of newspaper found by the hedge. He walked slowly, framing pretexts for gaining admission to the house. His thoughts were interrupted by a hail. He swung round to see Sir Arthur Digby-Coates coming at a fast walk from the direction of the bridge. Sir Arthur arrived out of breath. “Hallo, my boy, hallo,” he gasped. “What are you doing here? Calling on Lucia? Didn’t know you knew her.” “I don’t. Lucia who?” “Mrs. Lemesurier. That’s her house there. Just going there myself.” “I’ll walk along to the gate with you,” said Anthony. He saw a possible invitation. He began to make talk. “I wasn’t going anywhere; just strolling. I wanted to get away from Abbotshall and think. After I left the study, I drifted through the garden and crossed the river without knowing I’d done it.” Not even to Sir Arthur was he saying anything yet of his discoveries. The elder man picked his remarks up eagerly. “You’ve hit on something to think about, then? That’s more than I’ve done, though I’ve been racking my brains since midnight. That detective fellow don’t seem much better off either.” “Oh, Boyd’s a very good man,” Anthony said. “He generally gets somewhere.” “Well, I hope so.” Sir Arthur sighed. “This is a terrible business, Gethryn. Terrible! I can’t talk much about it yet—poor old John. Did you know him at all?” “No. Shook hands with him once at some feed, that’s all.” “You’d have liked him, Gethryn. He—we’d best not talk about it. God! What an outcry there’ll be—is already, in fact.” “Yes,” said Anthony. “A blow to England and a boon to Fleet Street. Look here, don’t let me keep you. I hope Mrs.—Mrs. Lemesurier appreciates the beauty of her house.”