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away my tent?'
    'Do what you like with your tent. We don't need it any longer. We've about finished here.'
    'I'm moving into the New Forest Hunt Hotel.'
    'Very good, sir. I'll let the Superintendent know.'
    'He does know. I told him myself.'
    The sergeant withdrew and Richardson went to his tent. He picked up his pack and inspected the contents. Nothing had been impounded; in fact, it did not appear that anything had been touched. He knew better than to believe this, for the police, in the course of duty, would have looked at everything. All the same, if was a relief to find his belongings intact. He took down the tent and stowed it, waved to the police car without obtaining any response, and tramped, heavily laden, back to the hotel.
    To his surprise and relief, his fame had not preceded him. Barney had been discreet and had kept his mouth shut. It seemed reasonable, however, to warn the management that there might be visits from the police, so, having checked in at the office, he told the story of the mysterious dead, but did not mention that there had been two of these.
    'Oh, yes?' said the manager. 'Well, I know the Superintendent, so that'll be all right. He's in plain clothes and he'll see that anybody he brings here is in plain clothes, too. Don't worry, Mr Richardson. We expected you and Mr Bradley last night, but you were otherwise engaged, it seems!'
    'Bradley can't come until tomorrow. I don't know what has held him up, but I had a postcard.'
    'You'll like to see your room, anyway. The porter has the key and has taken your stuff up. Number seventeen. We've given Mr Bradley number twenty-two on the same floor.'
    'Thanks.' He went upstairs to find his gear neatly stowed and the porter about to go downstairs.
    'Will there be anything more, sir?'
    'No, thanks, Barney, not until my suitcase turns up.'
    'Very good, sir.' But Barney loitered.
    'I don't know anything else,' said Richardson. 'I spent the night at the police station, but that's not as bad as it sounds, because, actually, the Superintendent put me up in his own house.'
    'All of a queer do, sir.'
    'Must have been watching me ever since I began camping up there, I should think, this tramp I mean.' Again he made no mention of duplicates.
    'Do the police suspect foul play, sir?'
    Richardson, alarmed, thought that he had better answer truthfully.
    'Well, continue to keep matters under your hat, but I rather fancy they do,' he said. 'I'm told I may have to attend the inquest.'
    'You don't know the cause of death, sir?'
    'No, I haven't the least idea. I saw no sign of injury, but I wasn't looking for anything of the sort. I wonder how the poor devil of a bobby got on who had to stay on guard up there all night?' (Side-track, he thought. It worked.)
    'The Super sent up a car for him to sleep in, and a motor-cycle combination to bring the driver back, so I was told,' said the porter.
    'Some grape-vine!' said Richardson. 'Oh, well, we must wait and see what happens. I suppose I'm free to come and go-I haven't been told I'm not-so I'm going to play golf this afternoon, if the pro. can fix me up with clubs and balls. I suppose I can get a game?'
    'I'm sure you can, sir. There's a notice to say visitors are welcome. I don't know what sub. they expect, but at this time of year it should be easy enough to get a game.'
    The golf course was a mile and a half outside the village, two and a half from the hotel. Richardson went in to lunch at one o'clock precisely and was driving off from the first tee at two-thirty.
    He had been lucky enough to meet the secretary as soon as he arrived, and had been introduced to the local doctor, whose handicap was the same as his own. When the round was finished, Richardson returned the borrowed clubs to the pro., tipped him and said he had enjoyed the game.
    'I didn't catch the doctor's name,' he added.
    The pro. repeated it.
    'Does the police doctoring round here as well. Seems there's been a corpse up on Medley Heath. Some chap in a little