"So should I," remarked Blair. "Well, Mrs. Marry, show me Mr. Brown's room. I must examine his luggage." "There's only one box, and that's locked." "I'll take the liberty of opening it." "But you can't. I'm an honest woman. What'll Mr. Brown say when he comes back and finds his things gone? Besides, there's a trifle of rent, and----" "Hold your tongue!" said the inspector, with a glance which quelled her. "I will take nothing away. You forget who I am, Mrs. Marry. Show me the bedroom." And the landlady, thinking better of it, obeyed without further argument. The box was there--a common, brown-painted traveling-box. There was no name on it, and it proved to be locked. The inspector asked for a chisel, and forced it open. Within he found three suits of gray clothes, some linen and socks, together with a pair of cloth boots--nothing else. No name on the shirts, no tailor's tag on the clothes. Evidently nothing of Mr. Brown's identity was to be learned from his belongings. "The man from nowhere," said Phelps, gazing blankly around him. But Inspector Blair was not yet satisfied. He searched both sitting-room and bedroom, questioned Mrs. Marry, looked at some torn pieces of paper in the fireplace, and--found nothing. Rector and inspector walked out of the cottage as wise as when they had entered it. So far their search had been a failure. All that afternoon Blair hunted the village for evidence. He heard how Warrender had called at Mrs. Marry's house, how he had left there to follow the Quiet Gentleman, who had been seen by the peasant going in the direction of the moor. Blair recalled the loose stone dropped from the churchyard wall, and his own theory that the corpse had been taken to a cart on the road. He sent out the police, and had the heath searched, even to the hut where the corpse had been, but all with no result. And as yet he was ignorant of what Cicero knew. Tired and baffled, he returned to Heathton to the inn. Here he found a messenger from Mr. Phelps, asking him to call at the Rectory. He hurried there, and was met by Alan Thorold, who presented Cicero and Mrs. Warrender. Then the tramp told the story of all that he had seen. Blair rubbed his chin. "Can the doctor have helped Brown to do it?" he said half aloud. "No, he did not!" cried Mrs. Warrender angrily. "My husband was as good a man as ever lived. Why should he steal a corpse?" "Humph! Why indeed!" Blair recollected something he had seen in the vault of which he cared not to speak until he could be more certain. So he held his peace. "Even if the late lamented Dr. Warrender did violate the sanctity of the tomb," said Cicero softly, "who killed the late lamented Dr. Warrender?" "Perhaps the shorter man who helped him," said the Rector. "That was----" "Hold your tongue just now," whispered Alan, for Cicero was about to mention Joe Brill's name; "we'll come to that later. Who's that?"