“That’s all there is, Superintendent. It didn’t take long to get down there. I stopped the car opposite his gate, and he asked me to go in. I went, and I don’t deny that we had a final whisky and soda to wind up the evening. It was exactly half-past one by the clock on his mantelpiece when I went out and came back to Frattenbury. I hope that satisfies you?” “Am I to be set at liberty?” asked Proctor dryly. The little man looked so quaint, with his bald, egg-shaped head, that Major Renshaw could scarcely restrain a smile. “There’s nothing else we can do with you, Mr. Proctor. But I wish you had told us all this before.” Proctor drew himself up with an air of injured dignity. “I objected to being shadowed,” he said. “It put my back up. You’ll confess it wouldn’t have been wise to have arrested me?” “Ah, don’t say any more, Mr. Proctor. We’ll try to forgive you this time. I’m sorry we’ve upset you, but we’re quite satisfied now.” “You don’t want me any longer, Major?” asked Merrifield. “All right. Come along, Proctor, old chap. You’ll be wanting something to pick you up after all this, and I’ve got it at my house.” When they were gone the Major, the superintendent and Anthony Crosby looked at each other for a moment or two, and then simultaneously burst into a roar of laughter. But Colson did not join in. His face was as black as a thunder-cloud. “Come,” said Crosby to the Chief Constable, “you’ll admit he fairly had you, Major Renshaw? Aren’t you glad you didn’t arrest him?” “I am,” said the Major grimly. “I confess it. Conceited little beggar! I’m glad he had a fright, though. He did, you know, or he wouldn’t have changed that cigar band at the inquest.” “Ah,” said the lawyer reflectively, “it was only natural, I suppose. A sudden impulse, you know. I can quite understand that even an innocent man, suddenly confronted with such a damning bit of evidence against him, should succumb to the temptation and take advantage of his peculiar opportunity. How do you think he did it?” “I know,” said Colson gloomily—“there were several bands from Grayson’s cigars lying in the grate. He picked up one of those. I remembered afterwards—I could almost swear I saw him do it. That was what put us on to Grayson. We’ve taken all three suspects—and now there’s an end of them.” The Chief Constable, beneath his somewhat stiff military bearing, was a kindly man. He put his hand on the detective’s shoulder. “Come, Colson,” he said, “you couldn’t help it. It’s a bit of a set-back, I know; but after all, it’s cleared the ground.” Colson looked up, and blurted out what was on his mind: “Are you going to call in Scotland Yard, sir?” The superintendent looked hard at Major Renshaw, but said nothing. The Major reflected. Then he said: “You shall have another week, Colson. Get on with the job and see what you can do.” “Thank you, sir.”