Staveley only differed from a hundred other English seaside resorts by having a sea front which was quite flat, the cliffs which skirted the coastline from Ashlingsea falling away and terminating in sand dunes about half a mile to the south of the town. At that point the cliff road, after following the coastline for nearly twelve miles, swept inland round the sand dunes, which had encroached on the downs more than half a mile from the sea, but turned back again near the southern outskirts of the town in a bold picturesque curve to the sea front.

From the sea front the town rambled back with characteristically English irregularity of architecture to the downs. There was the usual seaside mixture of old and new houses, the newest flaunting their red-tiled ugliness from the most beautiful slopes of the distant hills.

Crewe and Marsland drove slowly along to High Street by way of the front after leaving the police station. A long row of boarding-houses and hotels faced the sea; and there were pleasure boats, bathing-machines, a pier and a bandstand. The season was practically over, but a number of visitors still remained, making the most of the late October sunshine, decorously promenading for air and exercise. It was a typically English scene, except that the band was playing German music and the Kursaal still flaunted its German name.

The front was bisected about midway by the main business thoroughfare of the town, and there was a sharp distinction between the two halves of the promenade which it divided. The upper half was the resort of fashion and the mode: the hotels were bigger and more expensive; the boarding-houses were designated private hotels. All the amusements were situated in this part of the front: the pleasure boats, the pier, the band, the goat carts, and the Bath chairs. The lower part of the front was practically deserted, its hotels and boarding-houses looked empty and neglected, and its whole aspect was that of a poor relation out of place in fashionable surroundings.

Although Marsland did not know much about Staveley he was able to guide Crewe to Curzon Street, and once in Curzon Street they had not much difficulty in finding the shop kept by Mr. Grange. It was a curious little white house standing back a few feet from the footpath, and trays of second-hand books were arranged on tables outside.

Crewe, after getting out of his car, began an inspection of the books on the trays outside the shop, and while engaged in this way he saw a young lady being shown out of the shop. She was a well dressed graceful girl, not much more than twenty. Behind her was the shopkeeper, a tall thin man past middle age, with a weak irresolute face disfigured by some cutaneous disorder, small ferrety grey eyes, and a straggling beard. As he opened the door to let the young lady out Crewe's quick ears heard him remark:

"Well, as I said, we didn't go because we saw the storm coming up. I'm very glad now we didn't, as things turned out. It's a dreadful affair—dreadful."

To Crewe's surprise Marsland stepped forward when he saw the young lady, lifted his hat and put out his hand. Crewe thought she hesitated a little before responding.

"I am glad to see you, Miss Maynard," Marsland declared. "You are the very person I wanted to see. But this is quite an unexpected meeting."

"It is very kind of you," said the young lady with a smile.

To Crewe it was evident that she was more embarrassed than pleased at the meeting.

Marsland walked along the street a few paces with Miss Maynard and then came back to Crewe.

"Please excuse me for half an hour or so, Crewe. I have some things to talk over with this lady."

He rushed back to Miss Maynard's side without waiting for an answer. Crewe watched them for a moment and then he became aware that the shopkeeper standing at his doorway was watching them with a gaze of perplexity.

"Mr. Grange, I believe?" said Crewe.

The shopkeeper produced a pair of spectacles from his pocket and put them on before replying. With the spectacles on his small grey eyes he peered at Crewe, and said:

"What can I do for you, sir?"

Crewe saw that the man was ill at ease, and he endeavoured to bring him back to his normal state.

"Have you a copy of a book called NotitiÆ Monastica?" asked the detective. "It's a work on the early British religious establishments," he explained.

"No, sir: I don't think I've ever heard of the book. But perhaps I could get you one if you particularly want it."

"You might try and let me know. I'll leave you my address. Inspector Murchison told me that if anyone could help me you could."

"Inspector Murchison?" echoed Mr. Grange peering again at Crewe.

"He was most enthusiastic about you," continued Crewe. "He said that if ever he wanted to know anything about rare books he would come to you. You have a good friend in the inspector, Mr. Grange."

"I did not know—yes I think so—it was very good of him—very good indeed." Mr. Grange was both relieved and pleased at being commended by the head of the local police, for he smiled at Crewe, blinked his eyes, and rubbed his hands together.

"And about Mrs. Grange he was no less enthusiastic," continued Crewe. "He told me about her extraordinary psychic powers and the recovery of Constable Bell's watch-chain pendant. A most remarkable case. I take a great interest in occultism, Mr. Grange, and in all forms of psychic power—I have done so for years. Perhaps your wife would grant me the favour of an interview? I should so much like to meet her and talk to her."

"Certainly," exclaimed Mr. Grange, who was now delighted with his visitor. "I am sure she would like to meet a gentleman like yourself who is interested in—er—occultism. Excuse me while I run upstairs to her."

He left the shop by a side-door opening on the passage leading to the private apartments above the shop. A few minutes later he came back with an invitation to Crewe to follow him upstairs to the sitting-room. Crewe followed him into a room which overlooked the street. In an arm-chair beside one of the two windows sat Mrs. Grange. She rose to meet Crewe. She was about four feet in height but her deformed figure seemed to make her look smaller. Her skin was dark and coarse and her teeth were large. On her upper lip there was a slight growth of hair and her eyebrows were very thick and shaggy. She had deep black eyes, and after her bow to Crewe she gazed at him in a fixed penetrating way—the look of an animal on the watch.

Crewe took particular note of the way in which her black hair was dressed. He closed the door behind him and took a seat near it when the dwarf sat down in her arm-chair. Mr. Grange stood a few feet from his wife and again rubbed his hands together to express his satisfaction.

"It is very good of you to see me," said Crewe to the dwarf. "I was so much struck with the account Inspector Murchison gave me of your psychic powers that it occurred to me that you might be able to assist me in a somewhat similar way to that in which you assisted Constable Bell."

"I shall be pleased to try," said the dwarf slowly. "But success is not always possible." She spoke in a thin high pitched voice.

"So I understood," said Crewe. "But my case is, I think, less difficult than that of Constable Bell. I have not lost anything. On the contrary I have found something, which I want to restore to the owner. If I gave you this thing I have found to hold, you could describe the owner to me, could you not?"

"It is possible," said the dwarf.

Crewe produced from one of the pockets of his motor coat a brown paper parcel. He unwrapped the paper, keeping covert observation on the Granges as he did so, and displayed the old felt hat which he had found while making his way down the path from the top of the cliff.

"I am anxious to restore this to its owner," he said, as he held out the hat to the dwarf.

He intercepted the glance of angry reproach which she gave her husband. The latter had stopped rubbing his hands and now stood gazing alternately at the hat and at Crewe, with visible trepidation on his features. The dwarf gave the hat a quick glance, and then resolutely turned to Crewe.

"It is of no value," she said, in her high pitched voice, meeting his glance intently.

"Of very little value—from the monetary point of view," said Crewe. "But there are other reasons why the owner would like to have it restored to him. Do you think you could help me to find him?"

"No," she replied decisively. "I could not help you."

"Why?" asked Crewe.

"Because it does not interest me. I must feel an interest—I must feel in sympathy with the object on which I am asked to exert my powers. Without such sympathy I can do nothing, for when I close my eyes to see the vision I become as blind as those born without sight."

"And you have no interest in helping me to restore this hat to its owner?" asked Crewe.

"None," she replied.

"And you?" said Crewe, turning to her husband.

"I—I know nothing about it," he stammered. "It is not mine."

"This hat was lost over the cliffs near Ashlingsea. It was lost the night that the murdered body of the owner of the Cliff Farm was found. The owner was so anxious to secure possession of it that the morning after the murder he sent a boatman over to the scene to look for it. Is not that correct?" asked Crewe looking searchingly at Mr. Grange.

"I know nothing about it," was the reply.

"Perhaps you would like to try it on," said Crewe, picking up the hat and holding it out to the woman's husband.

"Me?" exclaimed the man, recoiling as he spoke. "Why should I? It is not mine."

"Come," said Crewe, "I will exchange the hat for a candid statement of what happened at Cliff Farm on that fateful night."

"It is not his," declared the dwarf. "We know nothing about Cliff Farm—we have never been there."