“Sorry to give you the trouble, Canon,” said Major Renshaw, “but we’ve detained this young man on suspicion, and you may help us. So far, I’m bound to admit, he’s given a straightforward account of himself. His story sounded a little thin at first, but we’ve corroborated it as far as we were able. Only, there’s one point that is dead against him. And that’s where _you_ come in.” “What is that?” asked the Canon. The Chief Constable nodded to Colson to go on. “Well, sir,” said the detective, “you produced, at the inquest, yesterday, a cigar band which you stated you found in Mr. Templeton’s cabin.” “I did.” “You would recognise it again?” “Most certainly. I said, you remember, that it was the same brand as my own cigars.” The detective smiled pityingly. “That may be,” he said with a touch of sarcasm in his voice; “at all events we want you to tell us now—is this the band?” And he took from his pocket-case the band which had figured at the inquest. The Canon took a quick glance at it. “No. Certainly not!” he exclaimed. The three men looked at him in surprise. Colson ejaculated: “Great Scott!” Then he said: “Come, sir—it _must_ be.” “I tell you it isn’t. It’s entirely different. The band I found in the cabin, and handed in yesterday afternoon, was similar to these.” And he opened his own cigar box. “But _this_ is the band you handed in yesterday, sir,” exclaimed Colson, pointing to the one he had just produced. “It is nothing of the kind,” said the Canon a little hotly. “I am ready to swear to that.” There was a moment or two of intense silence, and then the superintendent said to Colson: “Are you _sure_ this is the band you received from the inquest?” Colson, who, like the Canon, did not relish his integrity being shaken, replied stiffly: “Quite sure, sir. I saw the Canon lay it on the table, an——” “But you didn’t examine it closely then,” broke in the Canon. “No—but I watched it being passed from man to man of the jury, and when it was finally put down on the table I didn’t remove my eyes from it till it was in my hands.” The superintendent slowly nodded his head. “You are quite certain, Canon?” he asked again. “Absolutely. This is _not_ the band I laid on the table.” Colson gave a low whistle and then pursed up his lips. “There _may_ be an explanation,” he said, “and a very significant one, too. But it is most important that these facts do not get about. May we rely on your discretion, Canon Fittleworth?” “Decidedly. Of course I shall say nothing.” “Well—the point is this, Canon Fittleworth. Now that you know so much I may as well tell you. This young Grayson was smoking a brand of cigars similar to that off which this particular band, which you repudiate, came. You will admit it was damning evidence against him.” “It certainly was,” said the Canon. “I am only too glad to have helped to clear an innocent man.” “Yes,” said the Chief Constable thoughtfully, “I suppose—I suppose this clears him—but——”