h a window at the scene outside.
A closed hearse had arrived; some men were carrying in a rough coffin
and three trestles. There was none of the gorgeous trappings which
lend dignity to such transits in public. Polished oak and gleaming
brass and rare flowers would add pageantry later; this was the livery
of the dissecting-room.

"Queer case!" growled Winter over his shoulder.

"If only Hilton had breakfasted early _this_ morning!" said Furneaux.

"If the dog hadn't stopped to scratch himself he would have caught the
hare," was the irritable answer.

"Aren't you pleased with Tomlinson, then?"

"The more he opened up the more puzzled I became. By the way, you
hardly asked him a thing, though you were keen on tackling him
yourself."

"James, I'm an artist. You handled him so neatly that I stood by and
appreciated. It would be mean to suggest that the prospect of a bottle
of Alto Douro quickened his imagination. I----"

Winter's hands were crossed behind his back, and his fingers worked in
expressive pantomime. Furneaux was by his side in an instant. Hilton
Fenley was standing on the steps, a little below and to the left of
the window. He was gazing with a curiously set stare at the bust of
Police Constable Farrow perched high among the trees to the right. The
observers in the room had then an excellent opportunity to study him
at leisure.

"More of Asia than of Europe in that face and figure," murmured
Furneaux.

"The odd thing is that he should be more interested in our sentinel
than in the disposal of his father's body," commented Winter.

"A live donkey is always more valuable than a dead lion."

"We shall have to go to that wood soon, Charles."

"Your only failing is that you can't see the forest for the trees."

They were bickering, an ominous sign for some one yet unknown.
Suddenly, far down the avenue, they saw a motor bicycle traveling
fast. Hilton Fenley saw it at the same moment and screened his eyes
with a hand, for he was bareheaded and the sun was now blazing with
noonday intensity.

"Brother Bob!" hissed Furneaux.

Winter thought the other had recognized the man crouched over the
handlebar.

"Gee!" he said. "Your sight must be good."

"I'm not using eyes, but brains. Who else can it be? This is the
psychological moment which never fails. Bet you a new hat I'm right."

"I'm not buying you any new hats," said Winter. "Look at Hilton. He
knows. Now, I wonder if the other one telephoned.