In the afternoon there was a reply to the effect that the man was employed by a market gardener near Chagford, and French at once took a car over to see him. Swann remembered the bicycle well, as he had had to keep it clean. He had seen it in the woodshed on the day before the tragedy, but next morning it was gone. He had looked for it particularly, as he wished to use it to take a message to the town and he had wondered where it could have got to. He had never seen it again. He had not asked about it, as he had not considered that his business. Once again French experienced the keen delight of finding his deductions justified by the event. In this whole case he had really excelled himself. On several different points he had imagined what might have occurred, and on a test being made, his idea had been proved correct. Some work that! As he did not fail to remind himself, it showed the highest type of ability. The next thing was to find the bicycle. He returned for the night to Ashburton, and next morning went down to see the superintendent of police at Plymouth. That officer listened with interest to his story and promised to have a search made without delay. When he had rung up and asked for similar enquiries to be made in the other large towns within a cycle ride of the moor, French found himself at a loose end. “You should have a look round the place,” the superintendent advised. “There’s a lot to see in Plymouth.” French took the advice and went for a stroll round the city. He was not impressed by the streets, though he admired St. Andrew’s Church, the Guildhall, and some of the other buildings in the same locality. But when, after wandering through some more or less uninteresting residential streets, he unexpectedly came out on the Hoe, he held his breath. The promenade along the top of the cliff was imposing enough, though no better than he had seen many times before. But the view of the Sound was unique. The sea, light blue in the morning sun, stretched from the base of the cliff beneath his feet out past Drake’s Island and the long line of the Breakwater to a clear horizon. On the right was Mount Edgcumbe, tree clad to the water’s edge, while far away out to the southwest was the faint white pillar of the Eddystone lighthouse. French gazed and admired, then going down to the Sutton Pool, he explored the older part of the town for the best part of an hour. When he presently reached the police station he was delighted to find that news had just then come in. The bicycle had been found. It had been pawned by a man, apparently a labourer, shortly after the shop opened on the morning of Tuesday, the 16th August; the morning, French reminded himself delightedly, after the crime. The man had stated that the machine was his daughter’s and had been given two pounds on it. He had not returned since, nor had the machine been redeemed.