As Grayson ate his eggs and bacon he could see the line of downs opposite and was picturing in his mind a pleasant day’s work, when a smart motor-car drew up at the garden gate of the cottage and a tall, military-looking man got out of it, followed by a stiff-looking man in plain clothes, who took up his position outside the cottage. A moment later the landlady opened the door of the room and announced: “A gentleman to see you, sir.” Grayson rose, surprised. “Good morning,” exclaimed the newcomer. “Your name is Grayson, I believe—Mr. Harold Grayson?” “It is,” replied Grayson; “but I confess I haven’t the honour——” “I am Major Renshaw, Chief Constable of this district. I fear I have rather an unpleasant duty to perform.” “Yes?” “You were recently staying at the ‘Mariner’s Arms’ at Marsh Quay, I believe?” Grayson, looking a little uncomfortable under the penetrating gaze of Major Renshaw, replied that he was. “And you left rather suddenly, very early on Sunday morning?” “I did—but I don’t understand——” “It was a little unfortunate, Mr. Grayson, that you did so. Please understand that I am making no charge against you at present, but I suppose you are aware what took place at Marsh Quay the night before you left?” The young man shook his head. “I don’t know what you mean,” he replied. “Oh, come now!” said Major Renshaw sharply. “Mr. Templeton’s murder—you must have heard of it. Everyone’s talking about it, and you’ve been in the neighbourhood all the time.” “Mr. Templeton’s murder?” stammered Grayson. “He—he had his yacht there.” “I see you know _that_,” said the Chief Constable grimly. “And do you mean to tell me you don’t know that he was murdered on that yacht?” “I—I—really I don’t.” Major Renshaw shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps you can explain,” he said coldly. “You must be an extraordinary young man either to think you can make me believe you know nothing or to have escaped hearing about it. Perhaps you won’t mind telling me your movements since you left Marsh Quay?” “I—I can do that. You may not believe me, and I admit it sounds strange—but I’ll tell you the facts. I left the ‘Mariner’s Arms’ quite early, intending to go to Frattenbury. Then I changed my mind and went to Selham. I put up at the ‘Wheatsheaf’ there. I asked them to give me some lunch to take out with me—I wanted to do some sketching—I am fond of being alone—I suffered from shell-shock in the war—and I find it rests me.” “Go on,” said the Major, a little more sympathetically now that Grayson had touched on his erstwhile profession. “What did you do next?”