Under the red tiled roof of 'The Carr Arms,' Robin Joyce was still sleeping the next morning when the green was filled with excited people talking of the murder--so they called it. The events of the previous night had so shaken the nerve of the little man, that it was all Herrick could do to get him out of that ghastly mansion, and down to the inn. Dr. Jim, rousing the landlord, had told his story and after seeing Robin to bed, had turned in himself. What did it matter to him, that the great house was still ablaze in the pine-wood, still filled with precious things, and its doors and windows open to thieves? He was too tired almost to think, and the moment his head was on the pillow, he fell into a heavy dreamless slumber, which lasted until ten the next morning. From this much-needed rest, he was awakened by Napper, the landlord, a burly man, with a ruddy face suggestive of beef and beer in large quantities. In no very pleasant humour, Jim sat up, to demand with a growl and an adjective what was wanted. On being informed that Mr. Inspector Bridge of Beorminster waited to see him, the events of the night came back on his still drowsy brain with a rush. Thoroughly awakened, he promised to be down in half an hour, and forthwith tumbled into the largest cold bath Napper could provide. After a douche, and ten minutes' gymnastics, the Doctor hurried into a clean shirt and his homespun suit. While he dressed he meditated on the fact that Napper had lost no time in telling the police what had happened. In a few minutes he looked into Robin's bedroom, and finding his companion still in an exhausted slumber, he went downstairs alone, to face the officer. Inspector Bridge was a tall lean man with a serious face, and--what was surprising taken in conjunction with his funereal looks--a jocular manner. The man's humour lurked in his eyes--a grey pair of twinklers, which belied the turned-down corners of his mouth. His movements were slow, his tone was brisk and businesslike. Rather a contradictory personality Herrick thought, and concluded that Bridge resembled nothing so much as an undertaker out for a holiday. His profession would thus account for the solemnity and slowness, and the holiday explain his brisk jocularity. This incongruous officer considered the young man with a pursed-up mouth and a humorsome eye. He saw that Herrick was a gentleman, and this opinion being confirmed--in the Inspector's mind--by the sight of a signet ring, he treated him with more deference than he had been prepared to show. Napper's report of the pedestrians had led Bridge to infer that they were of the genus "tramp." "Good morning sir," began the Inspector genially. "I have come to see you about this murder of Colonel Carr. My card--Mr.--Mr.--"