“Then he probably pauses to think—he may even take a look outside, or listen to hear if anyone is about. He knows he’s risked his neck for the sake of those diamonds. He’s a cool hand and calculates there’s no _greater_ risk—now the deed is done. So he takes out of Templeton’s pockets his wallet—anything he can find—he isn’t going to examine them at the moment—he knows he must clear out as quickly as possible. He puts his hand under the body and feels the waistcoat pockets—they are quite flat, so he doesn’t bother about them, little knowing that he misses the only stone there is. “His next move is to get back. Not the dinghy—the canoe, of course. The dinghy might arouse suspicion if found on the shore in the morning with the canoe fast to the yacht. In his haste and trepidation, he forgets the stick he has left in the dinghy till afterwards. Probably he is indoors by this time. He daren’t return that night. It’s too big a risk. And he daren’t remove the stick the next day; people are about from the beginning. His only chance to recover that stick is to do exactly what he did do—on Sunday night. There! What do you think of that?” He addressed the remark out loud to a solemn-looking rook that had perched for a moment on a post opposite to him. And the rook flapped its wings and replied: “Caw! Caw!” And then flew away as if it was not a bit impressed—which it ought to have been. For Detective-Sergeant Colson’s reasoning was so very clear and lucid that he felt it was going to hang a man and give him promotion. Colson, unabashed, by the irresponsive and somewhat impertinent rook, went on with his construction methods. “When A had examined the contents of Templeton’s pockets,” and he chuckled, “he was a little disappointed, I fear. Of course, he burnt the lot. We shall never find them, but we _shall_ find A!” Having arrived at this conclusion, to his great satisfaction, Colson turned his thoughts to the other object for which he had visited Marsh Quay that day. He wanted to get, somehow, into Proctor’s house, and that without anyone knowing about it. He was quite prepared, if occasion brought the necessity, to make a burglarious entry that night, for which purpose he was minded to reconnoitre and view possible means of entrance. There was another method of course. He could ring the front-door bell, boldly ask to see Proctor, and, finding that he was out, beg to be allowed to remain until he returned. The only hindrance to this procedure was that he would arouse Proctor’s suspicions, which he was not anxious to do. There was a third way out of it, but rather risky. If he could satisfy himself that the two domestics were out of hearing in the kitchen at the back of the house, he might be able to slip in now—and try to find out what he wanted to know.