rejoined his unit.
He's been posted as an absentee, and the police have been warned.
I'm afraid we can't do any more than that!"

The detective looked at the officer with mild reproach in his
eyes.

"Dear, dear," he replied, "and I made sure you'd be able to trace
him with that pass!"

He clicked his tongue against his teeth and shook his head.

"Dear, dear!" he said again.

"What's the feller been up to?" asked the A.P.M. Detectives have
a horror of leading questions, and Mr. Marigold shrank visibly
before the directness of the other's inquiry. Before replying,
however, he measured the officer with his calm, shrewd eye. Mr.
Marigold was not above breaking his own rules of etiquette if
thereby he might gain a useful ally.

"Well, Captain Beardiston," he answered slowly,
"I'll tell you because I think that you may be able to help me a
little bit. It's part of your work to look after deserters and
absentees and those sort o' folk, isn't it?"

The A.P.M. groaned.

"Part of my work?" he repeated, "it seems to be my whole life
ever since I came back from the front."

"If you want to know what this young fellow has been up to," said
Mr. Marigold in his even voice, "it's murder, if I'm not
mistaken!"

"Murder?" echoed the other in surprise. "Why, not the Seven Kings
murder, surely?"

The detective gave a brisk nod.

"That's it," he replied, "I'm in charge of that case, if you
follow me. I found that pass in the front garden of the
Mackwayte's house in Laleham Villas, half trodden into the earth
of the flower-bed by a heavy boot, a service boot, studded with
nails. There had been a lot of rain in the night, and it had
washed the mosaic-tiled pathway up to the front door almost
clean. When I was having a look round the garden, I picked up
this pass, and then I spotted the trace of service boots, a bit
faint, on the beds. You know the way the nails are set in the
issue boots?"

The officer nodded:

"I ought to know that foot-print," he said. "It's all over the
roads in northern France."

"We made inquiries through you," the detective resumed, "and when
I found that this Gunner Barling, the owner of the pass, was
missing, well, you will admit, it looked a bit suspicious."

"Still, you know," the A.P.M. objected, "this man appears to have
the most excellent character. He's got a clean sheet; he's never
gone absent before. And he's been out with his battery almost
since the beginning of the war."

"I'm no