“Some hours,” he replied. “Rigor mortis has begun to set in. I should say it might have been after midnight—probably before. I should like to make a complete examination later on. Can’t we have him moved to the inn?” “That will be best,” replied the superintendent. “We’ll see about that.” “There’s a motor just come,” said Webb from the deck. “That’s mine,” said the doctor. “I told my man to follow us out. I’ll get back now, but I’ll be down again later in the morning. There’s no more I can do at present.” “All right. Colson,” went on the superintendent to the detective, “you’d like to stay aboard and investigate a bit?” “Yes, sir. I want a good look round. And I prefer working alone.” The superintendent took a last searching glance round the cabin. “Webb!” “Yes, sir?” Webb put his head in at the doorway. “That lamp,” and he pointed to an oil-lamp swinging from the ceiling. “It’s burning. Did you light it when you came aboard?” “No, sir. I never noticed it.” “Very well. Now pull me ashore, please.” “Mr. Proctor,” he said when he came ashore and the doctor had departed, “may we go into your house? I want to ask Webb some questions.” “By all means, Superintendent. Come along in. Have you had breakfast yet?” “Yes, thanks.” “How about you, Webb?” “I had some at Frattenbury, sir.” “Well, I’ll leave you,” said Mr. Proctor as he took them into his dining-room. “Don’t do that,” said the superintendent. “You may be able to help us. Now then, Webb,” and he took out his notebook. “Yes, sir.” “Where’s your home?” “Thirty-one, Fore Street, Salcombe, sir.” “You’re a sailor?” “I work for Mr. Jefferies, sir. He lets out boats. He hired the _Firefly_ to Mr. Templeton—Mr. Reginald Templeton, sir.” “When?” “Three weeks ago.” “You’ve been with him ever since?” “Yes, sir,” and he recapitulated what he had told Tom Gale in the inn parlour. “Who was Mr. Templeton?” “He’d just come from Africa, sir. I reckon, from what he said, he’d been exploring or something. But he didn’t talk much. He knew how to handle a boat, sir.” “I see. And you visited all these places?” “Yes.” “Do you know if he had any particular reason for coming here?” “I think he had, sir.” “Why?” “He asked from the first whether I knew the coast. I said I did. I’ve an uncle in Frattenbury, sir. And I’ve sailed in these parts several times. He seemed pleased when I told him this.” “Anything else?” Webb thought a moment. “He mentioned he’d be here some days, sir. Said he had business. Said he was expected.” “Who by?” “I can’t say, sir. Only——” “Yes?” “When we was in Weymouth he gave me a letter to post—and, well——” “You read the address?” “Well, yes, sir.” “Very well. What was it?” “To a parson in Frattenbury, sir. A reverend gentleman, name of Fittlemore—or something like that.” “Fittleworth?” asked the superintendent sharply. “That’s it, sir; Fittleworth was the name.”