and him
with a full-sized mastiff."

"No, you won't. He's done you a lot of good. You were simply reeking with
conceit when I met you this morning. It was 'Siddle this' and 'Siddle
that' until you fairly sickened me. One would have thought I hadn't
cleared the ground for you, left you with all lines open and yourself
unknown to the enemy. Sometimes, you make me tired."

"Sorry, Charles," said Winter patronizingly. "I had a bit of luck on
Sunday, I admit. The chance turn taken by the conversation with Doris,
with the result that I was able to occupy a strategic position on the
cliff, and hear every word Siddle uttered, was really fortunate. But,
isn't that just what men mean when they prate of success? Opportunity
knocks once at every man's door, says the old saw. The clever man grabs
hold instantly. The indolent one, often a mere gabbler, opens his eyes
and his mouth weeks afterwards, and cries, 'Dear me! Was that the
much-looked-for opportunity?' Of course, Robinson's by-play with the sack
and rope was merely thrown in by the prodigal hand of Fate."

"Stop!" yelped Furneaux. "Another platitude, and I'll assault you with
the tongs!"

It was the invariable habit of the Big 'Un and Little 'Un to quarrel like
cat and dog when the toils were closing in around a suspect. Woe, then,
to the malefactor! His was a parlous state.

"Let's cool down, Charles!" said Winter, opening a leather case, and
selecting, with great care, one out of half a dozen precisely similar
cigars. "We're pretty sure of our man, but we haven't a scrap of evidence
against him. How, or where, to begin ringing him in I haven't the
faintest notion. If only he'd kill Grant we'd get him at once."

"But he won't. He trusts to Ingerman playing that part of the game. He's
as artful as a pet fox. I bought soap, and a pound of sal volatile, but
he did up each parcel with sealing-wax."

"Sal volatile!" smiled Winter. "I, too, went in for soap, but my
imagination would not soar beyond a packet of cotton-wool. It was the
lumpiest thing I could think of."

"And perfectly useless!" sneered Furneaux. "I must say you do fling the
taxpayers' money about. Now, _my_ little lot will keep the electric bells
in my flat in order for two years."

"You forget that constant association with you demands that I should
frequently plug my two ears," retorted Winter.

Furneaux would surely have thrown back the jest had not a knock on the
door interrupted him.

"Who's ther