“Well, sir,” said Colson, addressing the Canon, and never looking at anyone else, “this has not been an easy case at all, and I don’t mind confessing that I’ve blundered considerably.” “You’ve done your best, sergeant, I’m sure. And no man can do more.” It was Norwood who spoke, but Colson took no notice of him. He only seemed to be aware of Canon Fittleworth’s presence. He went on: “My initial mistake, which led to others, was in taking it for granted that robbery was the motive for the murder—I allude to the diamonds. There were three persons who came under suspicion—there were ugly facts against each of them, especially as one of them was possessed of cigars of the same brand as those which you smoke, sir. And, in spite of the band being changed—or, rather, because of it—we felt quite sure that this individual was our man.” “What do you mean by the cigar band being changed?” asked Norwood. But the detective never removed his eyes from the Canon. “Yes—it was changed,” he said. “I’ll come to that later on. Well, as I was saying, these three men were cleared of all complicity with the crime. As for your cigars, Canon Fittleworth”—and he took a paper from his pocket—“I have a list here of all the persons to whom you gave any of those particular cigars, and I am satisfied that not one of them committed the murder, or knew anything about it.” “I’m very glad to hear that,” said the Canon, a little uncomfortably, for the detective’s fixed gaze was beginning to fascinate him strangely. “It’s true,” went on Colson. “Well, the time came when I dismissed from my mind the idea that the robbery of the diamonds was the motive. I had to begin all over again. And now, Canon Fittleworth, I want to tell you how I imagine in my own mind that your cousin was done to death.” “Do you _know_?” “I said ‘imagine,’ sir. Few people have ever witnessed the actual committal of a murder. Mr. Templeton, I think, was killed because he was a very foolish man. I would go so far as to say that he probably brought it on himself.” “But——” began the Canon. “Please, sir,” said the detective, holding up his hand, “let me tell my story in my own way. I want you to follow your cousin’s movements in your mind from the time he left this house on the Saturday night.” “This is all imagination, I think you said?” asked Francis Norwood. “This is all imagination, yes. But imagination often helps to reconstruct a crime. Well, sir, he left your house to keep an appointment.” “With whom?” asked the Canon. “Ah,” replied Colson, “there is no one to tell us that. There were no witnesses, we will suppose. Imagination, sir! He kept the appointment then. In Frattenbury. As this is imagination, we will call the person with whom he had an appointment ‘Mr. Blank.’ The end of this appointment was, that he and ‘Mr. Blank’ walked back together to Marsh Quay.” “Why?” asked the Canon.