"Well," exclaimed Goring, "I for one am hardly satisfied with his recent career. While he was in the Navy and afloat--gunnery-lieutenant of one of His Majesty's first-class cruisers--there appears to have been nothing against his personal character. Only after his retirement these curious rumours arose." "True, and nobody has fathomed the mystery of his late life," admitted Barclay, drawing hard at his cigarette and examining the lighted end. "I've heard of him being seen in Cairo, Assouan, Monte Carlo, Aix, Berlin, Rome--all over the Continent, and in Egypt he seems to have travelled, and with much more means at his disposal than ever he had in the ward-room." "There are strange mysteries in some men's lives, my dear Barclay. Harborne was a man of secrets without a doubt. Some of those secrets may come out at the inquest." "I doubt it. Poor Dick!" he sighed. "He's dead--killed by an unknown hand, and his secret, whatever it was, has, I believe, gone to the grave with him. Perhaps, after all, it is best." "The police are very busy, I understand." "Oh, of course! The Norfolk Constabulary will be very active over it all, but I somehow have an intuition that the crime was one of no ordinary character. Dick must have dismounted to speak to his assailant. If he had been overthrown his machine would most probably have been damaged. The assassin wanted the motor-cycle intact to get away upon. Besides," he added, "the victim took over an hour to cover the three miles between North Walsham and the spot where he was found. Something unusual must have occurred in that time." "Well, it can only be left to the police to investigate," replied the tall, country squire, thrusting his hands into his jacket pockets.