“No doubt, sir, you read of the sad accident we had here about six weeks ago—a tragedy, if I may put it so. Two of the gentlemen belonging to the works—Mr. Berlyn, the junior partner, and Mr. Pyke, the travelling representative—lost their lives on the moor. Perhaps you recall it, sir?” Of course! The affair now came back to French. So far as he could recall the circumstances, the two men had been driving across Dartmoor at night, and while still several miles from home their car had broken down. They had attempted to reach the house of a friend by crossing a bit of the moor, but in the dark they had missed their way, and getting into one of the soft “mires,” had been sucked down and lost. “I read of it, yes. Very sad thing. Unusual, too, was it not?” “Yes, sir, for those who live about here know the danger and they don’t go near these doubtful places at night. But animals sometimes get caught. I’ve seen a pony go down myself, and I can tell you, sir, I don’t wish to see another. It was a slow business, and the worse the creature struggled the tighter it got held. But when it comes to human beings it’s a thing you don’t like to think about.” “That’s a fact, Sergeant. By the way, it’s like a dream to me that I once met those two gentlemen. I wish you’d describe them.” “They were not unlike so far as figure and build were concerned; about five feet nine or five feet ten in height, I should say, though Mr. Berlyn was slightly the bigger man. But their colouring was different. Mr. Berlyn had a high colour and blue eyes and reddish hair, while Mr. Pyke was sallow, with brown eyes and hair.” “Did Mr. Berlyn wear glasses?” French asked, with difficulty keeping the eagerness out of his voice. “No, sir. Neither of them did that.” “I don’t think they can be the men I met. Well, I’ll go up and see this Mr. Fogden in the morning. Good night, Sergeant.” “Good night, sir. If there’s anything I can do I take it you’ll let me know.” But French next morning did not go to the office equipment works. Instead he took an early bus to Torquay, and calling at the local office of the _Western Morning News_, asked to see their recent files. These he looked over, finally buying all the papers which contained any reference to the tragic deaths of Messrs. Berlyn and Pyke. He had no suspicions in the matter except that here was a disappearance of two persons about the time of the murder, one of whom answered to the description of the man who had called for the crate. No one appeared to doubt their death on the moor, but—their bodies had not been found. French wished to know what was to be known about the affair before going to the works, simply to be on the safe side.