That Robert had come by the 2.10 seemed fairly certain. To find out more about him in time for the inquest would be difficult. All that was known about him in the village where he and Mark had lived as boys bore out the evidence of Cayley. He was an unsatisfactory son, and he had been hurried off to Australia; nor had he been seen since in the village. Whether there were any more substantial grounds of quarrel between the two brothers than that the younger one was at home and well-to-do, while the elder was poor and an exile, was not known, nor, as far as the inspector could see, was it likely to be known until Mark was captured. The discovery of Mark was all that mattered immediately. Dragging the pond might not help towards this, but it would certainly give the impression in court to-morrow that Inspector Birch was handling the case with zeal. And if only the revolver with which the deed was done was brought to the surface, his trouble would be well repaid. “Inspector Birch produces the weapon” would make an excellent headline in the local paper. He was feeling well-satisfied with himself, therefore, as he walked to the pond, where his men were waiting for him, and quite in the mood for a little pleasant talk with Mr. Gillingham and his friend, Mr. Beverley. He gave them a cheerful “Good afternoon,” and added with a smile, “Coming to help us?” “You don’t really want us,” said Antony, smiling back at him. “You can come if you like.” Antony gave a little shudder. “You can tell me afterwards what you find,” he said. “By the way,” he added, “I hope the landlord at ‘The George’ gave me a good character?” The Inspector looked at him quickly. “Now how on earth do you know anything about that?” Antony bowed to him gravely. “Because I guessed that you were a very efficient member of the Force.” The inspector laughed. “Well, you came out all right, Mr. Gillingham. You got a clean bill. But I had to make certain about you.” “Of course you did. Well, I wish you luck. But I don’t think you’ll find much at the pond. It’s rather out of the way, isn’t it, for anybody running away?” “That’s just what I told Mr. Cayley, when he called my attention to the pond. However, we shan’t do any harm by looking. It’s the unexpected that’s the most likely in this sort of case.” “You’re quite right, Inspector. Well, we mustn’t keep you. Good afternoon,” and Antony smiled pleasantly at him. “Good afternoon, sir.” “Good afternoon,” said Bill. Antony stood looking after the Inspector as he strode off, silent for so long that Bill shook him by the arm at last, and asked him rather crossly what was the matter. Antony shook his head slowly from side to side. “I don’t know; really I don’t know. It’s too devilish what I keep thinking. He can’t be as cold-blooded as that.” “Who?” Without answering, Antony led the way back to the garden-seat on which they had been sitting. He sat there with his head in his hands.