Bill looked at him for inspiration, and, receiving it, said, “Oh, just let’s have one game, shall we?” “Right you are,” said Antony. But Bill was much too excited to take the game which followed very seriously. Antony, on the other hand, seemed to be thinking of nothing but bowls. He played with great deliberation for ten minutes, and then announced that he was going to bed. Bill looked at him anxiously. “It’s all right,” laughed Antony. “You can talk if you want to. Just let’s put ’em away first, though.” They made their way down to the shed, and while Bill was putting the bowls away, Antony tried the lid of the closed croquet-box. As he expected, it was locked. “Now then,” said Bill, as they were walking back to the house again, “I’m simply bursting to know. Who was it?” “Cayley.” “Good Lord! Where?” “Inside one of the croquet-boxes.” “Don’t be an ass.” “It’s quite true, Bill.” He told the other what he had seen. “But aren’t we going to have a look at it?” asked Bill, in great disappointment. “I’m longing to explore. Aren’t you?” “To-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow. We shall see Cayley coming along this way directly. Besides, I want to get in from the other end, if I can. I doubt very much if we can do it this end without giving ourselves away. Look, there’s Cayley.” They could see him coming along the drive towards them. When they were a little closer, they waved to him and he waved back. “I wondered where you were,” he said, as he got up to them. “I rather thought you might be along this way. What about bed?” “Bed it is,” said Antony. “We’ve been playing bowls,” added Bill, “and talking, and—and playing bowls. Ripping night, isn’t it?” But he left the rest of the conversation, as they wandered back to the house, to Antony. He wanted to think. There seemed to be no doubt now that Cayley was a villain. Bill had never been familiar with a villain before. It didn’t seem quite fair of Cayley, somehow; he was taking rather a mean advantage of his friends. Lot of funny people there were in the world—funny people with secrets. Look at Tony, that first time he had met him in a tobacconist’s shop. Anybody would have thought he was a tobacconist’s assistant. And Cayley. Anybody would have thought that Cayley was an ordinary decent sort of person. And Mark. Dash it! one could never be sure of anybody. Now, Robert was different. Everybody had always said that Robert was a shady fellow. But what on earth had Miss Norris got to do with it? What had Miss Norris got to do with it? This was a question which Antony had already asked himself that afternoon, and it seemed to him now that he had found the answer. As he lay in bed that night he reassembled his ideas, and looked at them in the new light which the events of the evening threw upon the dark corners in his brain.