Colson nodded. He took one of the Canon’s cigars out of the box, looked at it, put it in his case, and carefully examined the label on the outside of the box. “Well?” asked the superintendent. “I don’t altogether depend on the Canon, sir. Other people might get hold of these cigars as well—if they’ve friends in Cuba, or are in the trade. Of course I agree with you, sir,” he went on to Major Renshaw, “and we must take note of anyone who had a cigar from the Canon. But it isn’t _there_ I fancy that we shall find our man. May I venture to give an opinion?” “Do,” said the others. “Well, it’s fairly obvious that the original cigar band was changed while passing round the jury. I’ve got my suspicions—but I won’t say just now.” “Ought we to tell the coroner, and get the jury—or any suspected person on it—dismissed?” asked Major Renshaw. “By no means, sir. That’s what I was just coming to. The man who changed that band should be the same as the individual who went after the walking-stick. We don’t want to rouse his suspicions at this stage. Let him think the band has gone the same way as the stick—that we’ve lost both clues.” “How?” asked the superintendent. “By making it public, just so far as we choose, and no farther. The blight—the Canon’s bungled it up till now. If he’d only given us that band, instead of producing it at the inquest, we could have kept it dark. As it is, every newspaper’s got a head-line with ‘The Cigar Band Clue—What are the Police doing?’ and all that rot. Well, let’s keep it up. Let the public think we’ve tested the clue and that we’re satisfied there’s nothing in it.” “There’s a lot in what he says,” remarked the superintendent to the Chief Constable, who nodded agreement. “Let the newspaper fellows know this—give ’em an ‘official statement.’ They love that. And if you, sir,” to Major Renshaw, “could mention it, casual like, it would help.” “I’m dining out at Mr. Norwood’s to-night,” said the Chief Constable—“one of what he calls his bachelor dinners. Dr. Hazell is sure to be there. He’s the biggest gossip in the place. It will be all over Frattenbury to-morrow if I mention it—ha, ha—‘on the authority of the Chief Constable.’” “That’s exactly what I want, sir,” said the detective eagerly. “It’ll give more weight locally than all the newspapers. And I’ve got a sort of inspiration that we haven’t to go out of the district to find our man.” “Unless, after all, it should happen to be Moss?” said the Chief Constable. “He’s not really out of the district—and we’ll see him to-morrow,” replied Colson. “If there’s nothing to keep us here, we’re both going up to London to-morrow morning,” explained the superintendent. “Oh, and by the way, sir, all known dealers in rough stones have been warned—and there’s an eye being kept on certain fences. Not that it’s likely that the murderer—if he’s got the stones—would sell them just now.” “And it’s probable that they’re not far off,” said Colson dryly.