The detective looked at the grate sharply. On the top of the coals, that were laid there ready to be lighted, was a sprinkling of cigar ash and a couple of red and gold bands. He picked them out. “These came off his cigars, I suppose?” “They must have, Mr. Colson. It’s few folks ever smokes them things here. Pipes and ’baccy is what they mostly uses.” “Quite so. Well, I’ll run up and pack my bag while you get my bill ready.” He rode quickly into Frattenbury, in a very cheerful mood, and reported to the superintendent. That functionary was delighted. “Good!” he exclaimed. “You’ve done well, Colson. We must have this Grayson at any price. Thompson has just been in to report that he stayed at Selham on Sunday and Sunday night—at the ‘Wheatsheaf.’” “Did he?” exclaimed Colson. “That makes matters clearer than ever. He was on the spot on Sunday night, eh?” “He was seen riding into Frattenbury a couple of hours ago,” went on the superintendent. “We’ll soon have him. He can’t get away by train—we’ve seen to that. By the way, Colson, the post has just brought in a letter from the London police about Moss. You’d better see it.” He handed a typewritten paper to the detective, who read: Isaac Moss. In reference to your inquiries concerning this man, I beg to report as follows. He rents a small office at 13a, Hatton Garden. Deals in jewels, mostly diamonds, and is well known. Private residence, “Fairview,” No. 53, Compton Avenue, Brondesbury. Nothing known against him. Possesses passport, as he is frequently in Amsterdam. Boats being watched as precaution. “I sent Tyler up yesterday,” went on the superintendent. “He’s probably on his track by this time.” Late that night a message came through from Tyler: Tracked our man, and have him under observation. Colson smoked the pipe of peace at his own fireside that night. His wife listened attentively as he told her all that he had done that day. “Looks promising, doesn’t it?” She thought for a minute or two before she replied: “I hope so—for your sake. But there are still difficulties. I want to know why the little bag with the one diamond was put back in Mr. Templeton’s waistcoat pocket—if the rest were stolen. And you say yourself that the cigar band was not a _very_ extraordinary one. Be careful, dear, won’t you? I want you to come out of this well, you know——” Colson smiled grimly. “All right, old girl,” he said, “I’ll be careful. I know what you mean. We don’t want to get anyone sent up for trial till we’re quite certain. It’s too big a risk—and I’m not taking any risks in this job.” CHAPTER X Harold Grayson is Detained