it at three days," agreed Winter.

"Then it follows----" began the Inspector, but checked himself. He was
becoming slightly mixed as to the exact sequence of events.

"Come, now, Bates," said Furneaux, "you can tell us the day Mr. Robert
Fenley left home recently? There is no harm in mentioning his name. It
can't help being in our thoughts, since it was discovered that his gun
was missing."

"He went off on a motor bicycle last Saturday mornin', sir."

"Can you fix the hour?"

"About half past ten."

"You have not seen him since?"

"No, sir."

"You would be likely to know if he had returned?"

"Certain, sir, unless he kem by the Roxton gate."

"Oh, is there another entrance?"

"Yes, but it can't be used, 'cept by people on foot. The big gates are
always locked, and the road has been grassed over, an' not so many
folk know of a right of way. Of course, Mr. Robert knows."

Bates was disturbed. He expected to be cross-examined farther, but, to
his manifest relief, the ordeal was postponed. Winter and Furneaux
commenced a careful scrutiny of the ground behind the rock. They
struck off on different paths, but came together at a little distance.

"The trees," murmured Winter.

"Yes, when we are alone."

"Have you noticed----"

"These curious pads. They mean a lot. It's not so easy, James."

"I'm growing interested, I admit."

They rejoined the others.

"Did you tell me that only you and Police Constable Farrow visited
this part of the wood?" said Furneaux to Bates.

"I don't remember tellin' you, sir, but that's the fact," said the
keeper.

"Well, warn all the estate hands to keep away from this section during
the next few days. You will give orders to Farrow to that effect,
Inspector?"

"Yes. If they go trampling all over, you won't know where you are when
it comes to a close search," was the cheerful answer. "Now, about that
gun--it must be hidden somewhere in the undergrowth. The man who fired
it would never dare to carry it along an open road on a fine morning
like this, when everybody is astir."

"You're undoubtedly right," said Winter. "But here come assorted
boots. They may help us a bit."

Tomlinson was a man of method. He and Farrow had brought two wicker
baskets, such as are used in laundry work. He was rather breathless.

"House--and estate," he wheezed, pointing to each basket in turn.

"Go ahead, Furneaux," said Winter. "Because I ought to stoop, I
don't."

The little man chok