For the first time since he had begun to speak, he took his eyes off the Canon, and gave a rapid glance at Superintendent Norton. Then he looked at the Canon again. “What I am about to imagine now,” he said slowly, “is first that the Dean gave ‘Mr. Blank’ one of the Canon’s cigars, secondly that ‘Mr. Blank’ was a left-handed man, and thirdly that he made one fatal mistake—he left his walking-stick in the dinghy—and this is it!” He lifted the walking-stick, suddenly, from behind the sofa and held it out to the Canon. Then he turned in a flash, and sprang across the room. “Mr. Norwood, I arrest you for the murder of Reginald Templeton.” There was a flash of steel and a click. Francis Norwood, who had risen to his feet when Colson had darted towards him, stood there, the handcuffs on his wrist. “Damn you!” he exclaimed, for once losing his frigidity. “What do you mean? That isn’t my stick. I had one like it, it is true, but I know that isn’t mine—I——” “Norwood,” broke in the Chief Constable sternly, “it is my duty to warn you that anything you say will be taken down and may be given in evidence.” “It _is_ your stick,” said Colson gravely. “Your housekeeper recognised it this evening. I’ve had it from the first. The one you removed from the dinghy the next night was a dummy. I put it there.” The astonished Canon looked from one to the other, and exclaimed to Major Renshaw: “Is this—is this extraordinary action countenanced by _you_, Major?” “I fear it is, Canon,” replied Major Renshaw. “Knowing what we do—and there is a great deal more—I have no option in the matter.” “But this is terrible—terrible!” Francis Norwood, still deadly pale, recovered a little from the shock. “This is unpardonable of you, Major Renshaw. I demand an explanation.” “Colson will give you one, Mr. Norwood. But I fear it will not help you.” He nodded to the detective, who opened the door. A thin, white-faced, emaciated man came into the room. Norwood regarded him with horror. “Ezra Grice!” he exclaimed in a low voice. “I—I thought he was dead!” “I know you did,” said Colson, “or you wouldn’t have been so eager to help with that advertisement. Shall I ask Grice to tell his story?” “No—no,” said the lawyer. “No—yes—I don’t care if he does. It’s all a pack of lies, and he can’t prove anything.” “It doesn’t matter whether he can or not,” said Colson. “I haven’t arrested you because of something you did twenty years ago. You are charged with murder—not embezzlement. May I go on, sir?” he asked the Chief Constable. “It is irregular, Colson,” said the Major stiffly. “I should very much like to know more,” put in the bewildered Canon. “I think I have a right to ask. You’ve arrested one of my friends in my own house—charged with the murder of my cousin. Norwood,” and he went up to the lawyer, “won’t you tell me you didn’t do this awful thing? I can’t believe it!”