"Don't talk rubbish, sir," said the sergeant, imperiously, for although a small man he had a great idea of his own importance. "There's no evidence to implicate you. All the same, I'm bound to say that anything you say will be used as evidence against you, if suspicions are aroused." "There, dash you! Didn't I say you suspect me?" growled Lemby. "Well, you have stumbled on a mare's nest, hang you! No one was more surprised than I was when I stumbled on that policeman and that old hag dealing with a corpse." "No one says otherwise," remarked Purse drily. "Undoubtedly the man who stole the bicycle is the guilty person. Do you know who he is?" "No, dash you, I don't. Wyke said nothing to me about seeing anyone." "Did he tell you that he expected a visitor?" "No. The ring came at the door about twenty or fifteen minutes to seven, and he bolted away, asking me to wait." "And he did not return?" said the officer, musingly. "How the deuce could he, when the man had knifed him?" "No, of course not," said the sergeant, soothingly, for Lemby was a difficult witness to deal with. "You were a friend of Sir Hector's?" "Yes, great friend." "What do you know about him?" "What everybody else knows. Everything I know is in the newspapers, as these infernal reporters have been smelling round here." "Was there anything in Sir Hector's past life to lead you to suppose that he had some secret likely to bring about his violent death?" "No. What a dashed roundabout way you have of asking questions! Why don't you trace that bicycle and catch the assassin?" "All over the country I have people on the watch. They may----" "Yes, and they mayn't," interrupted the buccaneer. "And how long am I to stay in this rotten hole?" "Until the inquest is over. It will be held to-morrow. It's strange," went on the sergeant, "that no relative of Sir Hector's has appeared to look after his interests. Yet the case is set forth in the newspapers." "Wyke has no relatives," said Lemby, grimly plucking at his beard. "The title becomes extinct. If you don't believe me ask Mr. Sandal, of Lincoln's Inn Fields, sergeant. He is Sir Hector's lawyer. I wrote and asked him to come down." Purse nodded approvingly. "Very wise of you, sir. But why take this trouble?" "Because I wish to know where the property goes to. Sir Hector should, by rights, leave it to my daughter. He was engaged to marry her." "Your daughter!" Purse started and stared. "Yes, dash you! Why shouldn't I have a daughter? Here's the case in a nutshell, and you can make what you can of it." Lemby paused, cleared his throat, and continued. "Sir Hector was engaged to marry my daughter Claudia, though she wasn't overfond of him, since she loved a chap called Craver." "That's the name of the Rector of this parish!" exclaimed Purse, staring hard.