There was a knock at the door, and the unwelcome figure of Carmichael obtruded itself. “Sorry if I interrupt,” he said, “but I thought you might be interested in this poor fellow we found yesterday. My caddie this morning was giving me the latest news. It’s extraordinary how these caddies pick up everything except one’s ball.” “What news?” gasped Reeves. “Well, it seems that Brotherhood was insured at one of these American offices. And they’re a great deal more particular than our own Insurance people. And after all they’re right to be: one’s so apt to think of the Insurance Company as a set of sharks, when in reality they are only protecting the interests of their policy-holders.” “Granted,” said Gordon. “Proceed.” “Well, as soon as they heard of the bankruptcy and then saw the news in the morning paper about the Links Tragedy, the Insurance Company pricked up its ears. Apparently, in the actuarial world, bankruptcy followed by alleged suicide is a matter of daily occurrence, and they have their suspicions. That is why I say they are quite within their rights when they insist upon registering a man by his birth-marks before they insure him. It’s an extraordinary thing about birth-marks; we really know nothing about them——” “Nor want to,” said Reeves, “for the time being. What happened?” “I was just telling you. A man came down from the Insurance Company to identify the corpse; and my caddie heard about it from——” “Heard what?” “Why, that it _is_ Brotherhood. They recognized him from the birth-mark.” “So that’s that,” said Mordaunt Reeves, a little bitterly. “Trust the Insurance people not to make a mistake. I confess that, after the handkerchief clue failed, I had begun to think it must be Brotherhood who was dead. I suppose your caddie didn’t happen to mention whether it was suicide or murder?” “He assumed it to be suicide; but not, I think, with any inside information. Of course, it was a foggy day. Did you know that, as a matter of statistics, there are more suicides in November than in any other month?” “I will make a note of the fact,” said Mordaunt Reeves. Chapter V On the Railway The afternoon seemed a compensation for yesterday; October sun glowed temperately over the links, with the air of a kind old gentleman producing sweetmeats unexpectedly. The rich but transient gold of summer evenings seemed hoarded in this summer of St. Luke; the air not over-charged with uneasy heat, but lucid and caressing; the leaves no longer in the shock of their summer finery, but dignified in the decayed gentility of their autumn gold. A perfect day for golf, such was the immediate impression of the Paston Oatvile mind; but to Reeves a second thought occurred—it was a bad day for following up the clues of a murder.