pair of slippers; on a table close by stood an old lead tobacco-box,
flanked by a church-warden pipe, a spirit decanter, a glass, and a
plate on which were set out sugar and lemon--these Brereton took to be
indicative that Kitely, his evening constitutional over, was in the
habit of taking a quiet pipe and a glass of something warm before going
to bed. And looking round still further he became aware of an open
door--the door into which Miss Pett had withdrawn--and of a bed within
on which Kitely now lay, with Dr. Rockcliffe and the police-sergeant
bending over him. The other policemen stood by the table in the
living-room, and one of them--the man who had picked up the
pocket-book--whispered audibly to Cotherstone as he and his companions
entered.

"The doctor's taking it off him," he said, with a meaning nod of his
head. "I'll lay aught it's as I say, Mr. Cotherstone."

"Looks like it," agreed Cotherstone, rubbing his hands. "It certainly
looks like it, George. Sharp of you to notice it, though."

Brereton took this conversation to refer to the mysterious clue, and his
suspicion was confirmed a moment later. The doctor and the sergeant came
into the living-room, the doctor carrying something in his hand which he
laid down on the centre table in full view of all of them. And Brereton
saw then that he had removed from the dead man's neck the length of grey
cord with which he had been strangled.

There was something exceedingly sinister in the mere placing of that
cord before the eyes of these living men. It had wrought the death of
another man, who, an hour before, had been as full of vigorous life as
themselves; some man, equally vigorous, had used it as the instrument of
a foul murder. Insignificant in itself, a mere piece of strongly spun
and twisted hemp, it was yet singularly suggestive--one man, at any
rate, amongst those who stood looking at it, was reminded by it that the
murderer who had used it must even now have the fear of another and a
stronger cord before him.

"Find who that cord belongs to, and you may get at something," suddenly
observed the doctor, glancing at the policemen. "You say it's a
butcher's cord?"

The man who had just whispered to Cotherstone nodded.

"It's a pig-killer's cord, sir," he answered. "It's what a pig-killer
fastens the pig down with--on the cratch."

"A cratch?--what's that?" asked Brereton, who had gone close to the
table to examine the cord, and had seen that, though s