When he reached the police station he found the superintendent, Colson, and a strong odour of stale beer, which emanated from the mouth of a peculiar individual. He was a rough-looking man of about forty, dressed in old, patched, corduroy breeches, brown leather gaiters, and a big, loose jacket, well-worn. He had a very red, beery-looking face, unbrushed black hair and whiskers, and a pair of sharp-looking dark eyes like a ferret’s. The Chief Constable looked at him and said severely: “It’s you, is it, Thatcher? What mischief have you been up to now?” The man shifted his dirty, soft hat from one hand to the other, and replied in a surly, thick tone of voice: “I ain’t done nothin’, Major—s’elp me I ain’t. I’ve told ’im what I come ’ere for.” And he jerked his head towards the superintendent. “It’s all right, sir,” said that functionary, “he’s come of his own accord this time. He wants to make a statement.” “What about?” “That ’ere murder—over at Marsh Quay,” said Thatcher. “What do you know about it?” “Look ’ere, Major,” replied Joe Thatcher, “I doan’t say as how I ain’t got into trouble time and agen. _You_ knows that. And I ain’t given to have naught to do with the police as long as they lets me aloane—which they doan’t always do, damn ’em! But I draws the line at murder, I does. I doan’t hold with it, and that’s why I come here to-night.” “Go on. What have you got to tell us?” A wicked, artful leer broke over the man’s face. “If I tells you what I knows—you woan’t ask me what I was a-doin’ of that night? I doan’t want to come up before the beaks just because I was havin’ a constitootional, as they calls it, when other folks were asleep.” “All right, Thatcher,” said the superintendent. “We’ve got your record, and we know pretty well what you’re up to when you take your midnight walks abroad. But you needn’t fear in this case. If you’ve got any information about the murder at Marsh Quay we’ll forget the rest.” “That’s what my missus said, she did. I told her what I seen—and she says, ‘You go and tell the police, Joe.’ I kept on sayin’ I wouldn’t, and that’s why I didn’t come afore. An’ she kept a-naggin’ on me, till I saw life was going to be a little hell if I didn’t come. And here I be.” “Go on, my man,” said the Chief Constable encouragingly. “There’s nothing to be afraid of; tell us about it.” “Well, ’tis like this. Saturday night I went out for a walk—late. I doan’t say as I hadn’t a gun wi’ me—but that’s naught to do wi’ it—be it?” “Nothing at all,” said Major Renshaw with a laugh. “I got down and round about them stubble-fields and spinneys along near the quay—but I didn’t have no luck.” “No,” said the Major dryly. “We had a big shoot there last week, and cleared out most of the birds.”