"You are making up a fine tale, Mr. Brett," he said doggedly, "but I'm blessed if I can follow your reasoning." "No, of course not. Eighteen months of settled conviction are not to be dispelled in an instant. But accept my theory. This man, the guilty man, must have resided in Stowmarket for some hours, if not days. Many people saw him. He could not live in Sleagill, where even the village dogs would suspect him. But the addle-headed police, ready to handcuff David Hume, never thought of inquiring about strangers who came and went at Stowmarket in those days. Stowmarket is a metropolis, a wilderness of changeful beings, to a country policeman. It has a market-day, an occasional drunken man--life is a whirl in Stowmarket. Fortunately, people have memories. At that time you did not wear a beard, Hume." "No," was the reply, "though I never told you that." "Of course you told me, many times. Did not your acquaintances fail to recognise you? Had not Mrs. Capella to look twice at you before she knew you? Now, Winter, start out. Ascertain, in each hotel in the town, if they had any strange guests about the period of the murder. There is a remote chance that you may learn something. Describe Mr. Hume without a beard, and hint at a reward if information is forthcoming. Money quickens the agricultural intellect." The detective, doubting much, obeyed. Hume, asking if there was any reason why he should not drive back to Sleagill for an hour before dinner, was sarcastically advised to go a good deal farther. Indeed, the sight of that tiny type-written slip had stirred Brett to volcanic activity. He tramped backwards and forwards, enveloped in smoke. Once he halted and tore at the bell. A waiter came. "Go to my room, No. 11, and bring me a leather dressing-case, marked 'R.B.' Run! I give you twenty seconds. After that you lose sixpence a second out of your tip." He pulled out his watch. The man dashed along the corridor, much to the amazement of a passing chamber-maid. He returned, bearing the bag in triumph. "Seventeen seconds! By the law of equity you are entitled to eighteenpence." Brett produced the money and led the gaping waiter out of the room, promptly shutting the door on him. "He's a rum gentleman that," said the waiter to the girl. "He must be, to make you hurry in such fashion. Why, you wouldn't have gone faster for a free pint." "I consider that an impertinent observation." With tilted nose the man turned and cannoned against Hume. "Here!" cried the latter. "Run to the stables and get me a horse and trap. If they are ready in two minutes I'll give you two shillings." "Talk about makin' money!" gasped the waiter, as he flew downstairs, "this is coinin'. But, by gum, they _are_ in a hurry." Brett unlocked his bag and took from it the book of newspaper cuttings. "Ah!" he said, after a rapid glance at his concluding notes. "I thought so. Here is what I wrote when the affair was fresh in my mind:--