rmed any ideas or theories?"

Pett half-closed his eyes as he turned them on his questioner.

"Too early!" he replied, with a shake of his head. "Much too early. I
shall--in due course. Meantime, there's another little commission I have
to discharge, and I may as well do it at once. There are two or three
trifling bequests in this will, gentlemen--one of 'em's to you, Mr.
Bent. It wasn't in the original will--that was made before Kitely came
to these parts. It's in a codicil--made when I came down here a few
weeks ago, on the only visit I ever paid to the old gentleman. He
desired, in case of his death, to leave you something--said you'd been
very friendly to him."

"Very good of him, I'm sure," said Bent with a glance of surprise. "I'm
rather astonished to hear of it, though."

"Oh, it's nothing much," remarked Pett, with a laugh as he drew from the
brief bag what looked like an old quarto account book, fastened by a
brass clasp. "It's a scrap-book that the old man kept--a sort of album
in which he pasted up all sorts of odds and ends. He thought you'd find
'em interesting. And knowing of this bequest, sir, I thought I'd bring
the book down. You might just give me a formal receipt for its delivery,
Mr. Bent."

Bent took his curious legacy and led Mr. Pett away to a writing-desk to
dictate a former of receipt. And as they turned away, the superintendent
signed to Brereton to step into a corner of the room with him.

"You know what you said about that electric torch notion this afternoon,
sir?" he whispered. "Well, after you left me, I just made an
inquiry--absolutely secret, you know--myself. I went to Rellit, the
ironmonger--I knew that if such things had ever come into the town, it
'ud be through him, for he's the only man that's at all up-to-date.
And--I heard more than I expected to hear!"

"What?" asked Brereton.

"I think there may be something in what you said," answered the
superintendent. "But, listen here--Rellit says he'd swear a solemn oath
that nobody but himself ever sold an electric torch in Highmarket. And
he's only sold to three persons--to the Vicar's son; to Mr. Mallalieu;
and to Jack Harborough!"

CHAPTER XII

PARENTAL ANXIETY

For a moment Brereton and the superintendent looked at each other in
silence. Then Bent got up from his desk at the other side of the room,
and he and the little solicitor came towards them.

"Keep that to yourself, then," muttered Brereton. "We'll talk