He was waiting on a pure chance, but after an hour he found that his luck was in. He heard the sounds of an engine being started up, and presently saw a small green car turn out of the drive and disappear in the direction of Ashburton. In the car was Colonel Domlio. French allowed another twenty minutes to pass, then crawling out of the brushwood, he returned to the house. Burt again opened the door. “I’m sorry to trouble you again, Mr. Burt,” he apologised, with his pleasant smile, “but I forgot to ask Colonel Domlio a question. Could I see him again just for a moment?” “Colonel Domlio went out about half an hour ago, sir.” “Ah, that’s very unfortunate.” French paused and looked disappointed, then brightened up. “Perhaps you could give me the information, if you would be so kind? I don’t want to have to come back another day.” Burt was obviously disconcerted. But he tried to hide his feelings and reluctantly invited the caller into the study. “Yes, sir?” he said. French instantly became official and very stern. He swung round, frowning at the other and staring him full in the face. Then he said, harshly: “It is you I want to see, Burt. You lied to me this afternoon. I have come back to hear the truth.” The man started and fell back a pace, while dismay and something like terror showed on his features. “I don’t understand,” he stammered. “What do you mean?” “It’s no use, Burt. You’ve given yourself away. You saw or heard something that night. What was it?” “You’re mistaken, sir,” he declared, with a look of relief. “I neither saw nor heard anything. I swear it.” And then gaining confidence: “I don’t know what right you have to come here and tell me I was lying. I’m sure——” “Cut it out,” French said, sharply. “Look here, Burt, do you want to be arrested on a charge of conspiracy to murder?” Burt’s jaw dropped, but French did not give him time to reply. “Because if you don’t you’ll tell what you know. Mr. Pyke was murdered that night, and perhaps Mr. Berlyn as well. They were not lost on the moor and it is believed they came here. If you keep back any information that might lead to the arrest of the murderer, it’s conspiracy—accessory after the fact. Ten years penal for that, Burt! Come along, now. Make up your mind whether you’re going to tell or face the judge.” Burt’s face had grown pale, but he stuck to it that he had neither seen nor heard anything. French cut his protestations short. “Fetch your wife,” he ordered. The man’s manner as he heard these words, coupled with Mrs. Burt’s evident fear when originally questioned, assured French that this time he was on the right track. With evident unwillingness the woman appeared. “Now, Mrs. Burt, I want to know what you heard or saw on the night of the tragedy. There is no use in telling me there was nothing. Now out with it!” And in terse language he explained what accessory after the fact meant, and its penalty.