“Confound it!” he exclaimed. Then his face lightened. “It’s all right,” he said. “If he bought the stick in Switzerland he’d have to take what they’d got. And he wouldn’t use it in the ordinary way there—in climbing with it. Besides——” “Besides what?” “There’s more ways than one of carrying a walking-stick, my dear. I’ve observed that. Little men often simply _carry_ them—I mean, they don’t hold them by the handle and stick the point in the ground when they walk.” She squeezed his hand fondly. “You are a silly old dear,” she said with a laugh. “That reasoning might have applied to Mr. Moss, you know.” “One for you,” he replied. “Never mind, old girl, Moss is out of the game now.” CHAPTER XIV Reginald Templeton’s Letter Anthony Crosby looked up with a smile as Winnie Cotterill was ushered into his private office. “Good morning, Miss Cotterill. Very glad to see you,” he said, getting up from his chair and shaking hands with the girl. “You got my note, then?” “You said you wanted to see me, Mr. Crosby.” “I did. Sit down, won’t you? Now I dare say you’ve been wondering why I’ve enticed you into my office, eh?” “Is it anything about Mr. Templeton’s murder?” asked Winnie as she sat down. “Well—er—in a way it is.” “Have the police found out yet who did it?” asked the girl eagerly. The lawyer took up some typewritten sheets lying on his table and glanced at them. “The superintendent at Frattenbury has been good enough to send me a private report,” he replied. “I don’t think I’m betraying their confidence when I tell you that so far they haven’t laid their hands on the villain. There was another man they suspected—besides Mr. Grayson—but he seems to have cleared himself.” Winnie had taken off her gloves. The observant lawyer glanced at her left hand. “You’re very glad Mr. Grayson is no longer suspected?” he asked dryly. The girl blushed a little, smiled and nodded. “Yes,” she said. “You see—since I saw you last——” “You’ve added to your jewellery, eh, Miss Cotterill?” “Mr. Grayson asked me to marry him, and I said——” “‘Yes.’ I’m not surprised. Let me offer you my congratulations. When are you going to be married?” “Oh, it’ll be ever so long a time. You see, Harold’s got to make his way as an artist. He’s the youngest son. He’s getting on, of course. But we shall have to wait a bit.” “And you—do you manage to earn your own living?” “Oh, yes—just, you know. I haven’t been able to save anything. But I’m getting along nicely.” “I see. Well, Miss Cotterill, we’ll dismiss this naturally pleasant subject for a time, if you don’t mind. I’ll tell you why I asked you to call. I suppose you know that my late client was much interested in you?” “Uncle?—Mr. Templeton? He was most awfully good to me.” “I wonder if you know why?” said the lawyer. “Sometimes I’ve often tried to guess—I’ve wondered if he was fond of my mother, you know?” Crosby nodded. “Yes—he was, Miss Cotterill. He was in love with her before she married.”