Near Mr. Franklin sat a few village notabilities, who, since they had not
the remotest connection with anyone concerned in the tragedy, have been
left hitherto in their Olympian solitude. He listened to their comments.

"As usual, the police are utterly at sea," said one.

"Yes, 'following up important clews,' the newspapers say," scoffed
another.

"It's a disgraceful thing if a crime like this goes undetected and
unpunished."

"Which is the Scotland Yard man!"

"The small chap, in the blue suit."

"What? _That_ little rat!"

"Oh, he's sharp. I met a man in the train and he told me--"

Mr. Franklin grinned amiably; Hobbs, the butcher, intercepting his eye,
grinned back. It is not difficult to imagine what portion of the
foregoing small talk reached Furneaux subsequently.

Oddly enough, both detectives had missed a brief but illuminating
incident which took place in the Hare and Hounds the previous night,
while Winter was finishing a cigar with Peters, and Furneaux was
bludgeoning Ingerinan into compliance with his wishes.

Elkin's remarkable improvement in health was commented on by Hobbs, and