Colson had taken the stick into his hand and was examining the point of it. He lifted his eyebrows and gave a low whistle. The ferrule was of the Alpine pattern. He carefully compared it with the one he had brought from Marsh Quay. The sizes were exactly the same. “What is it?” asked Canon Fittleworth. “Only a curious coincidence, that throws me entirely out of my reckoning. I’ll take this stick, please. Oh, by the way, I went through all the papers I could find on the _Firefly_. There was nothing particular. Only, perhaps you can throw some light on this one.” He took a letter from his pocket and handed it to the Canon. It bore an address in North-West London, and the writer merely said he was glad to hear that Templeton had arrived in England, and hoped that, when he was tired of yachting, he would run up to see him, as there were two or three matters of business to discuss. It was signed “A. F. Crosby.” “Do you know who it is?” “Why, yes,” said the Canon. “I ought to have thought of it before, but this terrible event has put things out of my mind. Templeton mentioned his name last night. He said he was going up to town shortly to see his lawyer, Anthony Crosby. I know him slightly myself. I ought to have written to him. I’ll do so at once.” “Oh, that’s capital,” said Colson. “Don’t you trouble to write. We’ll ’phone up to the London police, and ask them to see him at once. We must have him down to the inquest to-morrow, if possible. He may be a great help. Thank you very much. I must be off.” When he arrived at the police station he found the superintendent in consultation with the Chief Constable, Major Renshaw, a typical military man with close-cropped moustache. The two men welcomed the detective-sergeant eagerly. “Well,” said the superintendent, “we’re very anxious to know developments. Have you had any luck?” “Yes, sir—several things have come to light, and there may be something to go upon, though I’m still very much in the dark. First of all, though, I’ll get you to have this description ’phoned to the police throughout the county—a young man, a cyclist, staying at the ‘Mariner’s Arms,’ who left suddenly early this morning. The landlady says he was apparently riding into Frattenbury. We ought to get hold of him in any case.” “Most decidedly,” said the Chief Constable. “It’s important.” After this was done, and the matter of Mr. Crosby taken in hand, the superintendent told Colson that he had telephoned to London about Moss, but, as yet, there were no developments. Then the detective opened his dispatch-case and spread an assortment of articles on the table.