“Well,” said the Chief Constable, rising from his seat, “I’m off. I must dress for dinner. If you want me, Superintendent, ring up Norwood, he’s on the phone. I shall be there till about eleven.” The little dinners which Francis Norwood gave periodically were as stiff and formal as Francis Norwood himself. But they were always good, and his port was of excellent vintage. There were four guests that night—all of the male sex. The coroner rarely invited ladies, and then only the wives of his intimate friends. He sat, stiff and erect, at the head of the table, on his right Major Renshaw and Sir Peter Birchnall, a local magnate and magistrate, on his left a clean-shaven, round-faced man of short but rather portly dimensions, who was the Dr. Hazell referred to by the Chief Constable, and a comfortable-looking clergyman, the Reverend Alfred Carringford, the vicar of the parish in which the coroner resided. The maid—Norwood had no men-servants—had just put on the dessert with its accompaniments of wine and a box of cigars. Norwood passed round the port, and helped himself when it reached him again. Sir Peter held his glass up to the light, took a sip, and smiled approvingly. “’72, if ’m not mistaken, Norwood?” Norwood nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I’m sorry to say I’ve only a few more bottles left. And it’s too heavy a price to-day, even if there’s any on the market.” Dr. Hazell raised his eyebrows and shook his head knowingly. Norwood was reputed to be a wealthy man, and the little doctor was sceptical. “If you want to replenish your cellar, I can put you on to a good thing, Norwood,” went on Sir Peter. “Indeed?” “Buy ‘Virginian Reefs.’ They’re bound to go up. I happen to have seen the engineer’s latest report. It’s a safe thing.” “‘Virginian Reefs,’ eh?” said Dr. Hazell, taking out his notebook. “You recommend them, do you, Sir Peter?” “I hold some myself,” replied the Baronet pompously, and with the air of one who could not be wrong. Norwood shook his head and smiled his dry little smile. “We lawyers are not over-keen on speculation,” he said. “‘Virginian Reefs’—yes. I imagined they were in low water.” “Seven and sixpence was yesterday’s price, but they’ll go to three and four pounds. The general public know nothing yet, of course. This is the chance for picking them up.” Norwood, who was peeling an apple, at this point sent round the cigars. Carringford remarked as he lighted one: “That was a strange circumstance—the discovery of that cigar band by Fittleworth in that Marsh Quay case.” He looked at Norwood as he spoke. The coroner replied stiffly: “You can’t expect me to discuss that, Vicar.” “I suppose not,” said the doctor, “but it was a queer thing, as you say, Carringford. I suppose, Major,” and he leaned his elbows on the table and looked across at the Chief Constable, “I suppose the whole thing is keeping you pretty busy?” “Naturally,” replied Major Renshaw, cutting and lighting his cigar.