“If it’s a question of expense, Sir James——” “No, no. I’d like to. Leave it to me. I’ll get him for you. And now I’m here you might do something for me. I’ve read about the murder, of course. How can I get to the place to have a look at it? Morbid curiosity, what?” “I’ll run you down now in a car, with pleasure.” When they arrived at Marsh Quay it was peaceful enough. The tide was in, bathed in a sunshine splendour. Sir James remarked: “Queer, isn’t it? Here’s this chap Templeton, risked his life over and over again, all sorts of adventures, escapes, and so on, and he gets done to death in a quiet, beautiful spot like this—in the midst of our civilisation, what? Gad, I wonder who did it? I mustn’t ask what you know?” “You may ask, Sir James. But I can’t tell you—only—I think things are beginning to move. Did you know Mr. Templeton well?” “Met him several times—here and abroad,” said Sir James, as they turned away from the water’s edge. “Nobody knew him well; he wasn’t that sort. And nobody I ever met could turn him if he’d once made up his mind to do a thing—and he did queer things at times. If he thought a course was right, he’d stick to it—conventionality and advice and prudence be damned! I shouldn’t wonder if it wasn’t something of this kind that brought that knife into his heart.” Sir James went away, promising to let the superintendent know how things were shaping, and the latter rang up Colson, who was in his house. He went to the police station at once, and listened attentively to the story, but made little comment. He was still working more or less in the dark and was puzzled. But he acknowledged that the prospect was brighter. As he went up the street afterwards, he met Francis Norwood coming out of the bank. The lawyer stopped him. “Well, sergeant. I’ve seen your advertisements. Have you found Ezra Grice?” “No, sir,” said Colson truthfully, for he had not found him. “I see. Well, as I said before—anything I can do, you know.” “Thank you, sir.” The detective stood, lost in thought, as Norwood went on his way—looking at him. Then he shook his head slowly, went back to the police station, asked for the copy of the proceedings at the inquest, took it home and studied it till his wife literally dragged him out of his chair to come to the meal. But he was very silent as he ate, and as soon as the meal was over, returned to his perusal of the report. Then he took out his notebook and made quite long entries. CHAPTER XIX Colson Makes an Appointment Anthony Crosby, busy man as he was, found a little time to follow up, from a natural curiosity, the strange letter that Reginald Templeton had addressed to him. As the letter had surmised, this was not very difficult to do. He consulted several old law lists, and made certain inquiries at the office of the Law Society in Chancery Lane.