“But that’s just what he did do,” cried Bill triumphantly. “What fools we are!” Antony looked at him in surprise, and then shook his head. “Yes, yes!” insisted Bill. “Of course! Don’t you see? Mark did change after lunch, and, to give him more of a chance of getting away, Cayley lied and said that he was wearing the brown suit in which the servants had seen him. Well, then he was afraid that the police might examine Mark’s clothes and find the brown suit still there, so he hid it, and then dropped it in the pond afterwards.” He turned eagerly to his friend, but Antony said nothing. Bill began to speak again, and was promptly waved into silence. “Don’t say anything more, old boy; you’ve given me quite enough to think about. Don’t let’s bother about it to-night. We’ll just have a look at this cupboard and then get to bed.” But the cupboard had not much to tell them that night. It was empty save for a few old bottles. “Well, that’s that,” said Bill. But Antony, on his knees with the torch in his hand, continued to search for something. “What are you looking for?” asked Bill at last. “Something that isn’t there,” said Antony, getting up and dusting his trousers. And he locked the door again. CHAPTER XVIII. Guess-work The inquest was at three o’clock; thereafter Antony could have no claim on the hospitality of the Red House. By ten o’clock his bag was packed, and waiting to be taken to ‘The George.’ To Bill, coming upstairs after a more prolonged breakfast, this early morning bustle was a little surprising. “What’s the hurry?” he asked. “None. But we don’t want to come back here after the inquest. Get your packing over now and then we can have the morning to ourselves.” “Righto.” He turned to go to his room, and then came back again. “I say, are we going to tell Cayley that we’re staying at ‘The George’?” “You’re not staying at ‘The George,’ Bill. Not officially. You’re going back to London.” “Oh!” “Yes. Ask Cayley to have your luggage sent in to Stanton, ready for you when you catch a train there after the inquest. You can tell him that you’ve got to see the Bishop of London at once. The fact that you are hurrying back to London to be confirmed will make it seem more natural that I should resume my interrupted solitude at ‘The George’ as soon as you have gone.” “Then where do I sleep to-night?” “Officially, I suppose, in Fulham Place; unofficially, I suspect, in my bed, unless they’ve got another spare room at ‘The George.’ I’ve put your confirmation robe—I mean your pyjamas and brushes and things—in my bag, ready for you. Is there anything else you want to know? No? Then go and pack. And meet me at ten-thirty beneath the blasted oak or in the hall or somewhere. I want to talk and talk and talk, and I must have my Watson.” “Good,” said Bill, and went off to his room. An hour later, having communicated their official plans to Cayley, they wandered out together into the park.