“You’ve heard what Major Renshaw said,” replied Norwood. “Anything I say may incriminate me. I have no desire to discuss the matter further at this point.” “We owe you a further explanation, Canon, as you say,” remarked the Chief Constable, “and with your permission, Colson shall remain—and Mr. Grice.” The Canon nodded. “Thank you,” he said. “They may stay.” “Come!” said the superintendent. Between him and the Chief Constable the coroner walked out of the room, and a motor was heard a few moments later. Canon Fittleworth sat down and buried his head in his hands. Presently he said: “I’m thankful my wife and daughter are not at home.” “It wouldn’t have happened here, sir, if they had been, I assure you. You told me, you know, that you were alone.” The Canon nodded. “Go on,” he said. “I want to hear it all—poor Reginald!” “It’s a long story, sir, but I’ll try to make it as short as possible. The first idea that set me on the right track was that the murderer was a left-handed man. I found out that Mr. Templeton did not walk with a stick—I mean, didn’t put the point to the ground. There were square tracks of the stick’s ferrule on the path to Marsh Quay, on the left side as you go out.” “But what made you suspect the stick had anything to do with it?” Colson told him how the dummy one had been removed on the night after the murder, and then went on. “I was on the look-out for a left-handed man, and one day I saw Mr. Norwood draw a cork from a bottle. He held the bottle with his right hand and drew it with his left. It seemed preposterous, but when I noticed him another day walking down the street with a stick in his left hand it set me thinking. I got the report of the inquest, and studied it carefully, noting all the coroner’s questions. And it seemed to me that he was particularly anxious to find out whether anyone had an idea as to your cousin’s appointment. Also, when Jim Webb mentioned that he had read the address on the letter to you, he questioned him narrowly as to whether he had read any other addresses. Then he must have felt secure until you produced that cigar band. I thought for a long time that Proctor had changed it, but when I found he hadn’t, I knew it could only have been the coroner himself.” “Why?” “There were several old bands off cigars that had been smoked by Grayson, lying in the grate. Don’t you remember that the coroner dropped some papers in the grate, and stooped down to get them? So did Proctor. That’s why I suspected him first. Afterwards I saw it all. While that cigar band was passing round the jury, the coroner picked up one from the grate and changed it. Clever! But it was a foolish thing to do, as it turned out. “You told me you gave a dozen of your cigars to the Dean. He remembered that when Norwood was dining with him afterwards—just a day or two before the murder—he smoked one of them, and liked it so much that the Dean gave him a couple, which he put in his case.