trained faculties of an excellent investigator, who scorns no chance of
information, followed the self-satisfied, disjointed loquacity of the
constable.

"A fair-haired fellow," the last observed in a placid tone, and paused.
"The old woman who spoke to the sergeant noticed a fair-haired fellow
coming out of Maze Hill Station." He paused. "And he was a fair-haired
fellow. She noticed two men coming out of the station after the uptrain
had gone on," he continued slowly. "She couldn't tell if they were
together. She took no particular notice of the big one, but the other
was a fair, slight chap, carrying a tin varnish can in one hand." The
constable ceased.

"Know the woman?" muttered the Chief Inspector, with his eyes fixed on
the table, and a vague notion in his mind of an inquest to be held
presently upon a person likely to remain for ever unknown.

"Yes. She's housekeeper to a retired publican, and attends the chapel in
Park Place sometimes," the constable uttered weightily, and paused, with
another oblique glance at the table.

Then suddenly: "Well, here he is--all of him I could see. Fair.
Slight--slight enough. Look at that foot there. I picked up the legs
first, one after another. He was that scattered you didn't know where to
begin."

The constable paused; the least flicker of an innocent self-laudatory
smile invested his round face with an infantile expression.

"Stumbled," he announced positively. "I stumbled once myself, and