“Ah yes, the well. The well is used—in summer. We have a gravity supply from the hill behind the house, but it fails in summer; hence pumping from the well.” This statement was very satisfactory to French. It cleared up a point which had been worrying him. If it were possible to get rid of the clothes by throwing them down the well, why had Pyke’s body not been disposed of in the same way? But now this was explained. The condition of the water in the following summer would have led to investigation. “Try the fixed pump, Sergeant. It may save us rigging the other.” But a test showed that the valve leathers were dry and not holding, and they went on with their original program. French had been puzzled by the colonel’s attitude. If beneath his cynical manner he were consumed by the anxiety which, were he guilty, he could scarcely help feeling, he was concealing it in a way that was little short of marvellous. However, the preparations would take time and it was impossible that if the man knew what would be found he could hide all signs of tension. The candle, lowered to the surface of the water, burned clearly, showing that the air was fresh. The rope ladder was then made fast to the stonework and Sergeant Daw climbed down. Presently he returned to say that the beams on which the old pump rested were sound. The new pump was therefore lowered and one of the constables sent down to begin work. Getting rid of the water turned out a bigger job than French had anticipated. Slowly the level dropped. At intervals the men spelled each other, French and Daw taking their turns. By lunch-time the water had gone down seven feet, though during the meal it rose six inches. After that they worked with renewed energy to get the remaining five feet six inches out before dusk. “You have a second well, have you not, Colonel?” French enquired. “I noticed a pump near the kitchen door.” “Yes. We use it for drinking purposes. This is only good enough for washing the car and so on.” On more than one occasion Domlio had protested against what he called the waste of his time in watching the work. But French insisted on his remaining till the search was complete. About four o’clock the water was so far lowered as to allow an investigation of the bottom, and the sergeant, squeezing past the man at the pump, went down with his electric torch. French, leaning over the wall, anxiously watched the flickering light. Then came the sergeant’s voice: “There’s a waistcoat and trousers and shoes here, Mr. French.” “That all?” called French. “That’s all that I see. I’ve got everything of any size, anyhow.” “Well, tie them to the rope and we’ll pull them up.” How Domlio would comport himself when he saw the clothes was now the important matter. French watched him keenly as the dripping bundle appeared and was carried to a bench in the garage.