a good deal--for such as him, you know. He did carry money on
him--he was never short of money ever since I knew him, and sometimes
he'd a fair amount in his pockets--I know, of course, because he'd pull
it out, loose gold, and silver, and copper, and I've seen him take
bank-notes out of his pocket-book. But he'd be very like to have a good
deal more than usual on him tonight."

"Why?" asked the sergeant.

"Because he'd been to the bank this morning to draw his pension money,"
replied Miss Pett. "I don't know how much that would be, any more than I
know where it came from. He was a close man--he'd never tell anybody
more than he liked, and he never told me aught about that. But I do know
it was what you'd call a fair amount--for a man that lives in a cottage.
He went to the bank this noon--he always went once a quarter--and he
said this afternoon that he'd go and pay his rent to Mr. Cotherstone
there--"

"As he did," muttered Cotherstone, "yes--he did that."

"Well, he'd have all the rest of his money on him," continued the
housekeeper. "And he'd have what he had before, because he'd other money
coming in than that pension. And I tell you he was the sort of man that
carried his money about him--he was foolish that way. And then he'd a
very valuable watch and chain--he told me they were a presentation, and
cost nearly a hundred pounds. And of course, he'd a pocket-book full of
papers."

"This pocket-book?" asked the sergeant.

"Aye, that's it, right enough," assented Miss Pett. "But he always had
it bursting with bits of letters and papers. You don't mean to say you
found it empty? You did?--very well then, I'm no fool, and I say that if
he's been murdered, there's been some reason for it altogether apart
from robbing him of what money and things he had on him! Whoever's taken
his papers wanted 'em bad!"

"About his habits, now?" said the sergeant, ignoring Miss Pett's
suggestion. "Did he go walking on the Shawl every night?"

"Regular as clock-work," answered the housekeeper. "He used to read and
write a deal at night--then he'd side away all his books and papers, get
his supper, and go out for an hour, walking round and about. Then he'd
come in, put on his slippers--there they are, set down to warm for
him--smoke one pipe, drink one glass of toddy--there's the stuff for
it--and go to bed. He was the regularest man I ever knew, in all he
did."

"Was he out longer than usual tonight?" asked Bent, who saw that