e young gent, who I've often seen in this bar afore, an'
they walked off round by the Marine Lake. They never took no notice o'
me. They was too busy a' talkin'."

As the policeman slowly rendered this into writing, most eyes sought
Bramberger, who, feeling that he was the object of an attention perhaps
not too favourable, remarked:

"Ah, yes. I believe I'm wrong, after all. It was twelve o'clock I
meant--not nine."

"And what about this young gent?" queried the constable quickly. "Who is
he, anyway? Was he here with Pavely?"

"He might have gone out with him, I didn't take particular notice of
him," the German replied.

"But who is he?"

"Oh, you know him well enough. He's often in Maldon. It's young Mr.
Freeman, who's learning estate work with Mr. Harris, near Southminster.
He does drop in here now and again."

"Yes, I know him. A fellow-countryman of yours, ain't he?"

"No; he's English. I'd know a German well enough."

"Well, I've heard him speak. Mr. Jones, the schoolmaster, told me once
he thought he spoke with a German accent," replied the officer.

"So he do, Sergeant," spoke up a sailorman, "now you mention it. I'm
often in Hamburg, an' I know the German accent."

"You don't know anything about that forty-nine pounds, I suppose?" asked
the blundering local sergeant of police, for, as is usually the case,
the aid of New Scotland Yard had not been invoked. The police in our
small country towns are always very loath to request assistance from
London, as such action is admission of their own incompetence. Many a
murder mystery could be solved and the criminal brought to justice by
prompt investigation by competent detectives. But after blunt inquiries
such as those now in progress, success is usually rendered impossible.

Raymond exchanged glances with me and smiled. How different, I
reflected, were his careful, painstaking, and often mysterious methods
of investigation.

"Those sovereigns in 'is 'andkerchief are a puzzle," declared the man
Rait, "but somehow I fancy there's been a bit o' mystery about pore Jim
of late. Teddy Owen told me a week ago 'e see 'im up in London,
a-talkin' with a foreigner on the platform at Liverpool Street."

"Where is Owen?" asked the sergeant eagerly.

"Gone over to Malmoe on a Swedish timber-ship," was Robert Rait's reply.
"'E won't be back for a couple of months, I dare say."

This statement of the man Owen was to Raymond and myself very
significant and suspicio