He had finished cutting the stick now, and was comparing it with the original. Then he rubbed in some dirt and oil. The two sticks looked exactly alike. “Let me see,” said his wife. She handled them lightly. “There’s a tiny knob just here,” and she showed him it on the new stick. “Bravo! One to you. I’ll have that off.” With the most careful scrutiny they both compared the two sticks. The work was completed. Colson rose to go. “Now, dear,” he said, “put some things for the night into my bag and strap it on my bike, please. I’ll be back presently. Also, strap on this stick.” “I’ll wrap it up in brown paper first,” she said. “You can’t be too careful.” He kissed her, and went to the police station. Nothing fresh had transpired. He left the stick he had found on the dinghy at the station, wrote out his report, talked over matters with the superintendent, and finally went home to get his bicycle. Colson was an exceedingly careful man, and instead of taking the Marsh Quay road at once, he started out of the city in the opposite direction and rode by a circuitous route till he reached the southern road by a by-way. When he came to the turning that led to Marsh Quay, he put out his lamp and rode carefully through the darkness, congratulating himself when he reached the “Mariner’s Arms” that he had not passed a single person. Mrs. Yates had provided a tempting supper of cold meat, pickles, cheese and beer, and while the detective was doing full justice to it, came into his room. “They’ve all gone now, sir,” she said; “there’s no one else in the house.” “That’s all right. Well, I suppose they talked about the murder, eh?” “Nothing else, Mr. Colson. A lot o’ rubbish they talked, too. There’s nothing I overheard ’em say that’s worth mentioning.” “I see. Well, now, look here, Mrs. Yates. I want you to leave the front door on the latch, and if you hear me go downstairs in the night, don’t you take any notice, see?” “Very good, sir. Anything more you want?” “No, thank you, Mrs. Yates; you can clear away. Only, don’t take my glass. I haven’t finished your excellent beer yet.” When she had bid him good night, he lighted his pipe and leaned back in his chair, thinking over the events of the day, sipping his beer from time to time. Presently he looked at his watch. It was a little after ten. Taking a small piece of red glass from his pocket, he lifted the lamp from the table and approached the window with it. He held the bit of glass in front of the lamp for a few minutes and then put out the light. He opened the window. It was a cloudy night and very dark. He could hear Gadsden paddling himself ashore, and could just discern a dim form as he landed. Gadsden was making plenty of noise. He lighted his bicycle lamp, mounted his machine, and rode off, sounding his bell as he did so. Colson heard him shout out “Good night” when he was a little way down the road.