“Hardly at all, I should think. He did a lot of early morning exercises which were supposed to make him bright and cheerful at breakfast. They didn’t do that, but they seemed to keep him pretty fit. Tony, I wish you’d—” Antony held up a hand and hushed him into silence. “One last question,” he said. “Was Mark fond of swimming?” “No, he hated it. I don’t believe he _could_ swim. Tony, are you mad, or am I? Or is this a new game?” Antony squeezed his arm. “Dear old Bill,” he said. “It’s a game. What a game! And the answer is Cartwright in Wimpole Street.” They walked in silence for half a mile or so along the road to Woodham. Bill tried two or three times to get his friend to talk, but Antony had only grunted in reply. He was just going to make another attempt, when Antony came to a sudden stop and turned to him anxiously. “I wonder if you’d do something for me,” he said, looking at him with some doubt. “What sort of thing?” “Well, it’s really dashed important. It’s just the one thing I want now.” Bill was suddenly enthusiastic again. “I say, have you really found it all out?” Antony nodded. “At least, I’m very nearly there, Bill. There’s just this one thing I want now. It means your going back to Stanton. Well, we haven’t come far; it won’t take you long. Do you mind?” “My dear Holmes, I am at your service.” Antony gave him a smile and was silent for a little, thinking. “Is there another inn at Stanton—fairly close to the station?” “The ‘Plough and Horses’—just at the corner where the road goes up to the station—is that the one you mean?” “That would be the one. I suppose you could do with a drink, couldn’t you?” “Rather!” said Bill, with a grin. “Good. Then have one at the ‘Plough and Horses.’ Have two, if you like, and talk to the landlord, or landlady, or whoever serves you. I want you to find out if anybody stayed there on Monday night.” “Robert?” said Bill eagerly. “I didn’t say Robert,” said Antony, smiling. “I just want you to find out if they had a visitor who slept there on Monday night. A stranger. If so, then any particulars you can get of him, without letting the landlord know that you are interested—” “Leave it to me,” broke in Bill. “I know just what you want.” “Don’t assume that it was Robert—or anybody else. Let _them_ describe the man to you. Don’t influence them unconsciously by suggesting that he was short or tall, or anything of that sort. Just get them talking. If it’s the landlord, you’d better stand him a drink or two.” “Right you are,” said Bill confidently. “Where do I meet you again?” “Probably at ‘The George.’ If you get there before me, you can order dinner for eight o’clock. Anyhow we’ll meet at eight, if not before.” “Good.” He nodded to Antony and strode off back to Stanton again.