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carrying anything or not," said the Sergeant.
    "His hands were empty," replied Glass positively. "I will not bear false witness against my neighbour."
    "All right, skip it!" said the Sergeant. "Now, you've been in this district some time, haven't you?"
    "For three years, Sergeant."
    "Well, what do you know about these Fletchers?"
    "Their eyes stand out with fatness; they have more than heart could wish."
    "Yes, that's a lot of use, isn't it? What about the nephew?"
    "I know nothing of him, either good or ill."
    "And the late Ernest?"
    A sombre look came into Glass's face. "He that pursueth evil pursueth it to his own death."
    The Sergeant pricked up his ears. "What evil?"
    Glass looked sternly down at him. "I believe him to have been wholly given up to vain show, double of heart, a fornicator, a -"
    "Here, that'll do!" said the Sergeant, startled. "We're none of us saints. I understand the late Ernest was pretty well liked?"
    "It is true. It is said that he was a man of pleasing manners, filled with loving kindness. But the heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?"
    "Yes, that's all very well, but where do you get that fornication idea? From those footprints, eh?"
    "No. Joseph Simmons, who is in the way of light, though a foolish man, knew some of the secrets of his master's life."
    "He did, did he? We'll see!" said the Sergeant briskly, and turned towards the house.
    He entered it through the study window, and found his superior there, with Ernest Fletcher's solicitor, and Neville Fletcher, who was lounging bonelessly in an armchair, the inevitable cigarette drooping from the corner of his mouth.
    "Then, if that is all, Superintendent," the solicitor was saying, "I will take my leave. Should you require my further services, there is my card."
    "Thank you," said Hannasyde.
    The solicitor picked up Ernest Fletcher's Will, and replaced it in his brief-case. He glanced rather severely over the top of his pince-nez at Neville, and said: "You are a very fortunate young man, Neville. I hope you will prove yourself worthy of the benefits your poor uncle has conferred on you."
    Neville looked up with his fleeting smile. "Oh, so do I! I shall try hard not to let all this vulgar wealth corrupt my soul."
    "It's a great responsibility," said the lawyer gravely.
    "I know, that's what depresses me. People will expect me to wear a hat, and look at tape-machines."
    "I hope you will do more than that," replied the lawyer.
    "Now, if you please, I should like to have a word with your aunt. Perhaps you could take me to her."
    Neville obligingly rose, and opened the door for him. They passed out of the room together, and Sergeant Hemingway, who had been standing silent in the window, said: "Who's the bit of chewed string, Chief?"
    "The heir," answered Hannasyde. "Neville Fletcher."
    "Oh! well, I don't grudge it him. He looks as though he hasn't got tuppence to rub together, let alone hardly having the strength to stand up without holding on to something."
    "You shouldn't go by appearances, Sergeant," said Hannasyde, a twinkle in his eye. "That weary young man holds the record for the high jump. Got a half-blue at Oxford, so the solicitor informed me."
    "You don't say! Well, I wouldn't have thought it, that's all. And he's the heir? What did I tell you? Motive Number One."
    "I'll remember it if I draw a blank on that unknown visitor," promised Hannasyde. "Meanwhile, we've found this little lot."
    The Sergeant came to the desk, and looked over Hannasyde's shoulder at three slips of paper, all signed by Helen North. "IOUs," he said. "Well, well, well, she did splash money about, didn't she? Know what I think, Super? There's a nasty smell of blackmail hanging round these bits of paper. I believe friend Ichabod wasn't so far off the mark after all, with his pursuit-of-evil stuff."
    "My name is not Ichabod, Sergeant, but Malachi," said Glass stiffly, from the window.
    "It had to be," said the Sergeant. "What price