“I’ll certainly answer it. Possibly you know that I am interested in entomology? I think I told you I was writing a book about the insects of the moor? “In order to get material for my book I make expeditions all over the moor. I made one on that day of the tragedy. I went to a little valley not far from Chagford where there are numbers of a certain kind of butterfly of which I wanted some specimens for microscopic purposes. While chasing one of these I had the misfortune to get a severe fall. My foot went into a rabbit hole and I crashed, as the airmen say. I was winded and it was some time before I could get up, but I was thankful not to have broken my leg, as I might easily have done. That put me off running for one day and I crawled back to the car and drove home. “I was feeling a bit shaken and I went up to bed early that night, just before eleven. When I began to undress I found I had lost a miniature which I always carry and which I value extremely, not so much because of its intrinsic worth, but for sentimental reasons. Here it is.” He took a small gold object from his pocket and passed it across. It was of a charming design, exquisitely chased and set with diamonds, and French saw at once that it was of considerable value. It contained the portrait of a woman—a beautiful haunting face, clear cut as a cameo. The whole thing was a wonderful example of artistic skill. “My late wife,” Colonel Domlio explained as he replaced it in his pocket. “As you can imagine, I was distressed by the loss. I could only account for it by supposing it had dropped out of my pocket when I fell. I thought over it for some time and then I decided to go out to the place then and there and have a look for it, lest some shepherd or labourer might find it in the early morning. I did so. I took out the car and a strong electric torch and went back, and on searching the place where I fell I found it almost immediately. I came straight back, arriving shortly after two. Does that satisfy you?” “No,” said French. “Not until you explain why you denied having been out when Sergeant Daw asked you.” “That, as I have said, was a mistake. But you can surely understand my motive. When I heard the sergeant’s story I recognised at once that my having taken out the car was a very unfortunate thing for me. I felt sure that foul play would sooner or later be suggested and I thought I should be suspected. I couldn’t prove where I had been and I was afraid I should not be believed when I explained.” “I’m afraid that is not very clear. Why did you imagine that foul play would be suspected?” Domlio hesitated. “I suppose,” he said at last, “things have gone so far there is no use in trying to keep anything back. I knew that there was bad blood between Berlyn and Pyke. The sergeant’s news at once suggested to me that the trouble might have come to a head. I hoped not, of course, but the idea occurred to me.”