Mr. Morgan put his cold chisel to the joint of the lid and began to hammer. “Strictly speaking, we shouldn’t do this,” he declared as he worked. “We should have handed the thing over to Manners. It’s a job for the coast-guards. However, here goes!” The crate was strongly made, and though Mr. Morgan was a good amateur carpenter, it took him several minutes to open it. But at last one of the top boards was prized up. Instantly both became conscious of a heavy, nauseating smell. “A case of South American meat or something gone west,” Mr. Morgan commented. “I don’t know that I’m so keen on going on with this job. Perhaps we can see what it is without opening it up further.” Holding his breath, he put his eye to the slit and shone in a beam from the electric torch. Then with a sharp intaking of the breath he rose. “It’s a disgusting smell,” he said in rather shaky tones. “Let’s go round and ask Manners to finish the job.” “Let me look in, dad.” “Right, old man. But come round with me first to see Manners.” With some difficulty Mr. Morgan drew his son away. He was feeling sick and shaken. For beneath that well-fitting lid and sticking up out of the water which still remained in the crate was a gruesome and terrible object—the bent head and crouching body of a man dressed in underclothes only and in an advanced state of decomposition! It was all Mr. Morgan could do to crush down the horror which possessed him and to pretend to the boy that nothing was amiss. Evan must not be allowed to see that ghastly sight! It would haunt his young mind for weeks. Mr. Morgan led the way round the harbour, across the dock gates and towards the road leading to the town. “But aren’t we going to Manners?” Evan queried, hanging back. “Not to-night, if you don’t mind, old chap. That smell has made me rather sick. We can go down in the morning. The tide should be right after breakfast.” Evan demurred, suggesting that he alone should interview the coastguard. But he was what Mr. Morgan called “biddable,” and when his father showed that he was in earnest he allowed the subject to drop. In due course they reached home. Discreet suggestion having resulted in Evan’s settling down with his meccano, Mr. Morgan felt himself at liberty. He explained casually that he wanted to drop into the club for an hour and left the house. In ten minutes he was at the police station. “I’ve made a discovery this evening, Sergeant, which I’m afraid points to something pretty seriously wrong,” he explained, and he told the officer in charge about the hooking of the crate. “I didn’t want my son to see the body—he’s rather young for that sort of thing—so we went home without my saying anything about it. But I’ve come back now to report to you. I suppose you, and not Manners, will deal with it?”