"Whoy, this ere Mister Fellenger he was a-pothicary an' a chimist, an' he raised the 'nemy of mankin', as the saaying goes. An' they do saay es the black maan wor a devil, from all of which Good Loord deliv'r us, es I ses i' t' church." "Did you know Dr. Binjoy?" "Aye! He were laarge an' beer-baarel like; aw, vis, an' the woords he sid, passon culdn't spake like he. He wint awaay wi' Mister Fellenger t' be a barrownit, es I hey heaard tell." "Did the negro servant go with them?" "Aw, no. T' blaack devil he was turned out o' doors on t' twenty first, he was. I know t' toime, I do, 'cause blaack maan he nearly run me over on his bikikle, he did." Fanks pricked up his ears at this. It was on the twenty-first that the murder had been committed in London. He addressed himself with renewed attention to the task of extracting information from this piece of antiquity. "How was it that the negro nearly ran over you on his bicycle?" "Naow, I'll jes' tell ye, I will," said Simeon, settling himself for a long story. "This yere blaack maan--Caesar is his name--he worn a grean coat wi' brass buttons, he did. I knawed him in t' dark by that coat, I did." "Was it in the dark that he ran over you?" asked Fanks. "Aye; it jes' were, Mister. I was on t' Lunon Roaad, I was; about nine, es I cud tell by t' striking clock fro' t' church. An' this yere blaack maan he coom along, he did, on t' divil machine, an' he laaid me flaat on my back, he did; an' I bean't so yooung es I was, Mister. I shoated to he, but he niver saaid nothing, he didn't. He run on an' left me lying on my baack in t' durt, he did. I were main aangry, I were." "I don't wonder at it, Mr. Wagg," said Fanks, amiably. "But how did you know it was the negro Caesar?" "I seed his groan coaat, I tell 'ee; his face were muffled oop-like, but his coaat were plaain in t' gaas lamp, it were. I hev seen t' coaat heaps of times, I hev. An' t' nex' day he were sent away, he were." This story made Fanks wonder if Caesar had been up to town on the twenty-first. A negro had committed the murder in Tooley's Alley between six and seven. So if he returned to Taxton-on-Thames on a bicycle there was plenty of time for him to come down before nine o'clock, or, as the old man said, after nine o'clock. A good wheelman could easily cover the distance between London and Taxton-on-Thames in two hours. Again, Mrs. Boazoph had sworn that the murderer had been arrayed in a green coat with brass buttons; and this description matched that of the negro who had so nearly run over Wagg on the London Road. Time and date corresponded; and then the negro had been dismissed the next day--he had been smuggled out of the way by his master. On the whole, Fanks thought that matters looked rather black against the stout doctor. He proceeded with his enquiries. "Did Dr. Binjoy discharge his servant, or did Sir Louis?"