"The usual crowd--Hobbs, and Siddle, and Bob Smith, and a commercial
traveler. Siddle went at half past nine, but he generally does."

"You met no one on the road?"

"No."

The monosyllable seemed to lack Elkin's usual confidence. It sounded
as if he had been making up his mind what to say, yet faltered at the
last moment.

Robinson ruminated darkly. As a matter of fact, long after eleven o'clock
on that fateful night, he himself had seen Elkin walking homeward. He was
well aware that the licensing hours were not strictly observed by the
Hare and Hounds when "commercial gentlemen" were in residence. Closing
time was ten o'clock, but the "commercials," being cheery souls, became
nominal hosts on such occasions, and their guests were in no hurry to
depart. Robinson saw that he had probably jumped to a conclusion, an
acrobatic feat of reasoning which Furneaux had specifically warned him
against. At any rate, he resolved now to leave well enough alone.

"Well, we don't seem to get any forrarder," he said. "You ought to take
more care of your health, Mr. Elkin. You're a changed man these days."

"I'll be all right when this murder is off our chests, Robinson. You
won't have a tiddley? Right-o! So long!"

Robinson walked slowly toward Steynholme. At a turn in the road he halted
near the footpath which led down the wooded cliff and across the river to
Bush Walk. He surveyed the locality with a reflective frown. Then, there