“Yes,” answered the Canon, “I feel sure he had. He spoke vaguely of having business in the neighbourhood—but I haven’t the slightest idea what it was—except, yes—now I come to think of it he did drop a hint.” “What was it?” asked the superintendent, leaning forward. “He said that ever since he landed in Plymouth he’d been carrying about something valuable that made him a bit anxious—that he was glad to be getting rid of.” “Did he say what it was?” “No. He only mentioned it casually.” “H’m,” mused the other, “there may be something in this. It may mean the motive for the crime—robbery.” “That is quite possible. I wish he’d told us more.” “Exactly. One other question. You say he was going to see someone in Frattenbury last evening——” “Yes—but I haven’t the slightest idea who it was.” “I know—but I was going to ask, did he give you a hint of anyone else he knew in this neighbourhood?” The Canon thought carefully before he replied: “Only that, as I said, he referred to some business that he had in hand here.” The superintendent was silent. He drank his glass of wine and looked out of the window. Colson was coming up the garden path. In a few seconds he entered the room. “There’s something I must tell you at once, sir.” And he looked at the Canon. “Go on,” said the superintendent. “We are speaking in confidence,” he added. “Certainly,” said the Canon. “I’ve just been talking to a man named Gale who was here all day yesterday. He saw the _Firefly_ come in and anchor, and what’s more he saw Templeton row himself across to the other side—yonder,” and he pointed out of the window, “and reappear after about three-quarters of an hour with a Jew named Moss, who lives in that house you can see above the trees. He recognised him distinctly, even at that distance. Then Templeton pulled himself back to the yacht—and afterwards came ashore here.” “Good!” exclaimed the superintendent, springing to his feet. “We’ll interview this man Moss at once.” “I should like to come too, if I may,” said Canon Fittleworth. “There’s no reason why you shouldn’t. Ah—Webb is about still. We’ll get him to row us across. Come along, Colson.” Arrived on the other side of the estuary, they made their way through the woody path and in a few minutes came out on an open space where the house was standing. It was a modern two-storied villa, with a small garden and a garage. The superintendent rang the front door bell. The door was opened by a woman of about five and thirty. Her face paled a little as she saw the police uniform. “Does Mr. Moss live here?” “Yes, sir—when he’s down here for week-ends.” “Is he in?” “No, sir.” “Do you know where we can find him?” “He’s gone back to London, sir, with Mrs. Moss.” “Gone back to London, when?” “This morning, sir—by the early train from Frattenbury. My husband motored them both into Frattenbury.” “Do you live here with your husband?”