ent." Half-way up the stairs he
turned round and asked, "Am I in your room?"

"Yes. Do you know the way?"

"Yes. Start carving, will you? And order lots of beer." He disappeared
round the top of the staircase. Antony went slowly in.

When the first edge of his appetite had worn off, and he was able to
spare a little time between the mouthfuls, Bill gave an account of his
adventures. The landlord of the "Plough and Horses" had been sticky,
decidedly sticky--Bill had been unable at first to get anything out of
him. But Bill had been tactful; lorblessyou, how tactful he had been.

"He kept on about the inquest, and what a queer affair it had been, and
so on, and how there'd been an inquest in his wife's family once,
which he seemed rather proud about, and I kept saying, 'Pretty busy, I
suppose, just now, what?' and then he'd say, 'Middlin',' and go on again
about Susan--that was the one that had the inquest--he talked about it
as if it were a disease--and then I'd try again, and say, 'Slack times,
I expect, just now, eh?' and he'd say 'Middlin' again, and then it was
time to offer him another drink, and I didn't seem to be getting much
nearer. But I got him at last. I asked him if he knew John Borden--he
was the man who said he'd seen Mark at the station. Well, he knew all
about Borden, and after he'd told me all about Borden's wife's family,
and how one of them had been burnt to death--after you with the beer;
thanks--well, then I said carelessly that it must be very hard to
remember anybody whom you had just seen once, so as to identify him
afterwards, and he agreed that it would be 'middlin' hard,' and then--"

"Give me three guesses," interrupted Antony. "You asked him if he
remembered everybody who came to his inn?"

"That's it. Bright, wasn't it?"

"Brilliant. And what was the result?"

"The result was a woman."

"A woman?" said Antony eagerly.

"A woman," said Bill impressively. "Of course I thought it was going to
be Robert--so did you, didn't you?--but it wasn't. It was a woman. Came
quite late on Monday night in a car--driving herself--went off early
next morning."

"Did he describe her?"

"Yes. She was middlin'. Middlin' tall, middlin' age, middlin' colour,
and so on. Doesn't help much, does it? But still--a woman. Does that
upset your theory?"

Antony shook his head.

"No, Bill, not at all," he said.

"You knew all the time? At least, you guessed?"

"Wait till to-morrow. I'll tell you every