“Smoke, by all means,” he said. “I’ll supply you willingly. Only we rather bar cigars.” He looked at him keenly as he spoke. But Grayson was lighting a cigarette quite calmly. When they arrived at the police station a further examination took place in the presence of the superintendent and Colson. Grayson, who had recovered his equanimity by this time, repeated all he had told the Chief Constable. The superintendent took careful notes. “We shall make inquiries, Mr. Grayson,” he said, “to verify these statements so far as the people to whom you say you spoke are concerned. Now will you tell me, please, something about yourself?” “In what way?” “Well, your home.” “I am at present in lodgings in London. I will give you the address. My home is just outside Marlow, in Buckinghamshire. My father, who is a county magistrate, is well known—Mr. Osmond Grayson.” “What are you doing in this neighbourhood?” “Sketching, mostly.” “Did you know that Mr. Templeton was likely to be at Marsh Quay?” “Certainly not. I have already told you I wished to avoid him when I found he was there.” “Why?” “Because—well, the whole affair is a private matter.” “You need not tell us unless you wish to, Mr. Grayson,” interposed the Chief Constable. “But if the rest of your story is correct it will materially help us to account for your hasty departure.” “Very well,” said the young man after a moment’s thought, “there is really nothing to conceal. Some years ago my father was involved in a lawsuit with Mr. Templeton—and won it. Templeton had to sell his estate to pay the costs, and my father bought it. He hated the lot of us, and, I think, justly, because it’s always been my opinion that my father was not so much in the right as the law said he was. My father knows I think this. Well, if you want the truth, when I knew that Templeton was at Marsh Quay I didn’t want him to see me, because I’m a bit ashamed of the whole affair. I watched to see him come off the yacht to make quite sure it was he, and when I saw it was, I made up my mind to leave early the next morning. That’s all there is in it.” The superintendent nodded thoughtfully. “You don’t happen to know the name of Mr. Templeton’s solicitors when this case was tried, I suppose?” “Yes, I do. Of course I remember. Sir Henry Cateford was his counsel—I forget the name of the junior—and his solicitors were Crosby and Paxton, well-known people, I believe.” The Chief Constable and the superintendent exchanged glances, but Colson broke in at that moment. “Do you recognise this cigar?” he asked, showing him the crushed one he had received from Tom Gale. Grayson examined it. “It’s the same brand I’ve been smoking lately,” he said. “I couldn’t swear, of course, that it’s one of my actual cigars. What of it? If I can explain anything I’m quite willing to do so.” “Can you tell us if you smoked one of your cigars on board Mr. Templeton’s yacht, then?” asked Colson. “I never was on his yacht. Why do you ask?”