Crewe spent two days in making investigations at Cliff Farm and at Ashlingsea. He went over the farm very carefully in search of any trace of disturbed ground which might indicate where old James Lumsden had buried the money he had obtained from the sale of his investments. But he found nothing to support the theory that the money had been buried in the fields.

There were, of course, innumerable places where a few bags of money might be hidden, especially along the brook which ran through the farm, but though Crewe searched along both banks of the brook, as well as in the open fields, he found no trace of disturbed ground. The garden, he ascertained, had been thoroughly searched under the direction of Frank Lumsden.

Crewe realized that searching for the money without the assistance of the mysterious plan which Marsland had seen on the staircase was almost hopeless, and he was not affected by his failure.

His inquiries at Ashlingsea concerned the character and habits of the grandfather and the murdered man. In the course of his inquiries about the grandson he went up to London and called on the former employers of Frank Lumsden, and the firm of Messrs. Tittering & Hammings, wholesale leather merchants, gave Frank an excellent character. He had been a sober, industrious, and conscientious clerk, and they were greatly shocked at the fate that had befallen him. They could throw no light on the murder, for they knew of no one who had any enmity against Frank. Inquiries were also made by Crewe at the headquarters of the London Rifle Brigade, in which the young man had enlisted. His military record was good, and threw no light on his tragic fate.

Crewe returned to Staveley to continue his work on the case. Sir George Granville, in his anxiety to be helpful in solving the mystery, put forward many suggestions to his guest, but they were not of a practical kind. On points where Crewe did ask for his host's assistance, Sir George was unable to respond, in spite of his eagerness to play a part in the detective's investigations. For instance. Sir George was not able to give any information about the old boatman whom Crewe and Marsland had seen at the landing-place, at the foot of the cliffs near the scene of the tragedy.

Sir George had often seen the man in the scarlet cloak, and knew that he plied for hire on the front, but he had never been in the old man's boat, and did not know where he lived or anything about him beyond the fact that he was called Pedro by the Staveley boatmen, and was believed to be an Italian.

"I'll tell you what, Crewe," said Sir George, a bright idea occurring to him as the result of reactionary consciousness that he was not a mine of information in local matters. "You go up and see Inspector Murchison. He's a rare old gossip. He has been here for a generation and knows everybody and all about them. And mention my name—I'll give you my card. You will find he will do anything for me. I'd go along with you myself, only I have promised to make a call with Mildred. But Harry will go with you—Harry knows Murchison; I introduced him yesterday on the front."

After lunch, Crewe, accompanied by Marsland, walked up to the police station at Staveley to call on Inspector Murchison. The police station was a building of grey stone, standing back in a large garden. It would have been taken for a comfortable middle-class residence but for the official notices of undiscovered crime which were displayed on a black board erected in the centre flower-bed. A young policeman was sitting writing in a front room overlooking the garden, which had been turned into a general office.

Crewe, without disclosing his name or using Sir George's card, asked him if he could see the inspector in charge. The young policeman, requesting him to take a seat, said he would inquire if the inspector was disengaged, and disappeared into an inner office. He shortly returned to say that Inspector Murchison would see them, and ushered them into the inner office, where a police officer sat writing at a large desk.

Inspector Murchison of Staveley was in every way a contrast to Police-Sergeant Westaway of Ashlingsea. He was a large and portly man with a good-humoured smile, twinkling blue eyes, and a protecting official manner which ladies who had occasion to seek his advice found very soothing. He had been stationed at Staveley for nearly thirty years, but instead of souring under his circumscribed existence like Sergeant Westaway, he had expanded with the town, and become more genial and good-tempered as the years rolled on.

He was a popular and important figure in Staveley, taking a deep and all-embracing interest in the welfare of the town and its inhabitants. He was a leading spirit in every local movement for Staveley's advancement; he was an authority in its lore, traditions, vital statistics, and local government; he had even written a booklet in which the history of Staveley was set forth and its attractions as a health and pleasure resort were described in superlative terms. He was regarded by the residents as a capable mentor and safe guide in all affairs of life, and was the chosen receptacle of many domestic confidences of a delicate and important nature. Husbands consulted him about their wives' extravagance; wives besought him to warn husbands against the folly of prolonged visits to hotels on the front because there happened to be a new barmaid from London.

It was striking proof of Inspector Murchison's rectitude that, although he was the repository of as many domestic histories as a family physician or lawyer, none of the confidences given him had ever become common gossip. For all his kindly and talkative ways, he was as secret and safe as the grave, despite the fact that he had a wife and five grown-up daughters not less curious than the rest of their sex. He was an efficient police officer, carefully safeguarding the public morals and private property entrusted to his charge, and Staveley shopkeepers, as they responded to his smiling salutations when he walked abroad, felt that they could sleep in peace in their beds, safe from murder, arson, or robbery, while his portly imposing official personality guarded the town.

Inspector Murchison swung round on his office chair as Crewe and Marsland were brought in by the young policeman.

"What can I do for you, gentlemen?" he asked courteously.

"This is Mr. Crewe," said Marsland. "Mr. Crewe has been making inquiries about the murder at Cliff Farm."

"Glad to see you both," said Inspector Murchison, extending his hand. "If I can be of any assistance to Mr. Crewe he has only to say so. Of course I've heard all about the murder at Cliff Farm. It was you who discovered the body, Mr. Marsland. A terrible affair. Poor, inoffensive Frank Lumsden! I knew him well, and his grandfather too—a queer old stick. Buried his money where no one can find it. And that is what is at the back of this murder, Mr Crewe, I have no doubt."

"It certainly looks like it," said Crewe.

"What is your opinion, inspector, with regard to the money?" asked Marsland. "Do you think that young Lumsden found it and refused to pay the legacies, or that it has never been found?"

"It has never been found," said Inspector Murchison in a positive tone. "I'm quite certain of that. Why, it is scarcely more than a week ago that young Lumsden and his friend Brett came to ask me if I could throw any light on it. They had a mysterious looking cryptogram that young Lumsden had found among his grandfather's papers, and they were certain that it referred to the hidden money. They showed it to me, but I could not make head or tail of it. I recommended them to go and see a man named Grange who keeps a second-hand book shop in Curzon Street, off High Street. He's a bibliophile, and would be able to put them on the track of a book about cryptograms, even if he hadn't one in stock himself."

"What was the cryptogram like?" asked Marsland. "Was it like this?" He took up a pen from the table and attempted to reproduce a sketch of the mysterious document he had found on the stairs at Cliff Farm.

"Something like that," said the inspector. "How do you come to know about it?"

"I found it at the dead man's house before I discovered the body. I left it there, but it was stolen between the time I left the house and when I returned with Sergeant Westaway. At any rate it has not been seen since."

"Ah," said the inspector, "there you have the motive for the murder."

"You spoke just now of young Lumsden's friend, Brett," said Crewe. "Who is Brett?"

"He lives in Staveley—a young fellow with a little private means. He and Lumsden were close friends—I have often seen them together about the town. They served in the same regiment, were wounded together, taken prisoners together by the Germans, tortured together, and escaped together."

"Brett?" exclaimed Marsland in a tone which awakened Crewe's interest. "I know no one named Brett."

"No, of course you wouldn't know him, Mr. Marsland," said the inspector genially. "You have not been so long in Staveley that you can expect to know all the residents. It's not a very large place, but it takes time to know all the people in it."

"I was thinking of something else," said Marsland.

"What sort of man was Brett to look at?" asked Crewe of the inspector.

"About the same age as Lumsden—just under thirty, I should say. A thin, slight, gentlemanly looking fellow. Rather a better class than poor Lumsden. I often wondered what they had in common."

Crewe, who was watching the effect of this description on Marsland, pressed for further particulars.

"Average height?" he asked.

"A little under," replied the inspector. "Dark complexion with a dark moustache—what there was of it."

"I think you said he had been wounded and captured by the Germans?" said Marsland.

"Tortured rather than wounded," replied the inspector. "The Germans are fiends, not men. Brett and Lumsden were captured while out in a listening patrol, and because they wouldn't give their captors any information they were tortured. But these brave lads refused to give the information the Germans wanted, and ultimately they succeeded in making their escape during an attack. I've listened to many of the experiences of our brave lads, but I don't think I've heard anything worse than the treatment of Brett and this poor fellow who has been murdered."

"Was it at ArmentiÈres this happened?" asked Marsland.

"I think it was," replied the inspector. "Then you've heard the story, too, Mr. Marsland?"

"No, I was thinking of something else," he answered.

"We must look up Brett," said Crewe. "Just write down his address, inspector—if you don't mind."

"He lives at No. 41 Whitethorn Gardens," said the police officer. "But I don't think you will find him there to-day. His landlady, Mrs. Penfield, promised to send me word as soon as he got back. When I heard of this murder I went down to see Brett to find out when he had last seen Lumsden, and to get a statement from him. But he had gone up to London or Liverpool the day before the murder. Mrs. Penfield expects him back early next week, but it is impossible to be certain about his return. The fact is, Mr. Crewe, that he does some secret service work for the Foreign Office, and naturally doesn't talk much about his movements. He is an excellent linguist I'm told, knows French and Russian and German—speaks these languages like a native."

"There is no hurry about seeing him," said Crewe. "I'll look him up when he returns. In the meantime will you write down his address for me?"

Marsland, who was nearer the inspector, took the paper on which the police officer wrote Brett's address, and before handing it to Crewe looked at it carefully.

"And now can you tell me anything about an old boatman who wears a scarlet coat?" asked Crewe. "A tall old man, with a hooked nose and white beard?"

"That's old Pedro," replied Inspector Murchison. "He's well known on the front, although he's not been here very long, certainly not more than twelve months. But I hope you don't think Pedro had anything to do with the Cliff Farm murder, Mr. Crewe? We're rather proud of Pedro on the front, he's an attraction to the place, and very popular with the ladies."

"Marsland and I saw him in his boat at an old landing-place near the farm a few days ago," replied Crewe. "He's a man not easily forgotten—once seen. I'd like to find out what took him over in the direction of Ashlingsea."

"He's often over there," said the inspector. "That is his favourite trip for his patrons—across the bay and over to the cliff landing, as we call it. That is the landing at the foot of the cliffs near Cliff Farm—I daresay you noticed it, Mr. Crewe?"

"Yes. They told me at Ashlingsea that the landing-place and boat-house belong to Cliff Farm—that they were put up by old James Lumsden."

"That is right," said the inspector. "The old man used to do a bit of fishing—that is ten or fifteen years ago when he was an active man, though getting on a bit—a strange thing to combine farming and fishing, wasn't it? But he was a queer sort in many ways, was James Lumsden."

"And where is this man with the scarlet cloak to be found when he is not on the front?" asked Crewe. "I'd like to have a little talk with him."

"You'll find that rather difficult," said the inspector with a laugh. "Old Pedro is deaf and dumb."

"Has he any friends here, or does he live alone?"

"He came here with his daughter and her husband and he lives with them. His daughter is a dwarf—a hunchback—and is supposed to be a bit of a clairvoyant or something of that kind. The husband is English, but not a very robust type of Englishman. They have a shop in Curzon Street off High Street—second-hand books."

"What is his name?" asked Crewe.

"Grange."

"And it was to this man you recommended young Lumsden to go for a book on cryptograms?"

"Yes; the same man," said the inspector. "I can tell you a queer thing about his wife. I've said she is a bit of a clairvoyant. Well, you know there is not much love lost between the police and clairvoyants; most of them are shallow frauds who play on the ignorant gullible public. But Mrs. Grange is different: she isn't in the business professionally. And, being a broad-minded man, I am ready to admit that there may be something in clairvoyance and spiritualism, in spite of the fact that they are usually associated with fraud. Well, one of my men, Constable Bell, lost a pendant from his watch-chain. It was not very valuable, but it had a sentimental value. He had no idea where he lost it, but he happened to mention it to Mrs. Grange—this dwarf woman—and she told him she might be able to help him in finding it.

"She took him into a sitting-room above the shop, and after getting his watch from him held it in her hands for a few moments. She told him to keep perfectly still, and concentrate his mind on the article he had lost. She closed her eyes and went into a sort of trance. Then in a strange far-away voice she said, 'I see water—pools of water among the rocks. I see a man and a woman walking near the rocks, arm in arm. I see the man take the woman in his arms to kiss her, and the pendant, caught by a button of her blouse, drops into the pool at their feet.' That was true about the kissing. Bell when off duty visited Horseley three miles from here, with his sweetheart, and he thought the dwarf must have seen them and was having a joke at his expense. However, he cycled over to Horseley when the tide was out next day, and much to his surprise he found the pendant in the water—just as the dwarf had told him. How do you account for a thing like that, Mr. Crewe?"

"It is very difficult to account for," said Crewe. "Does this dwarf hold spiritualistic sÉances?"

"Not that I am aware of," replied the inspector. "If she does, it is in a private capacity, and not as a business."

"Her acquaintance is worth cultivating. We will go and see her, Marsland."

Crewe cordially thanked Inspector Murchison for the information he had supplied, and set out with Marsland for Mr. Grange's shop in Curzon Street.

"A good man, Murchison; he has given us a lot of information," he said to his companion as they drove along.

"It seemed very scrappy and incomplete to me," was Marsland's reply.

"Gossipy is the right word—not scrappy. And there is nothing more valuable than gossipy information; it enables you to fill in so many blanks in your theory—if you have one."

"You have formed your theory of how this tragedy occurred?" said Marsland interrogatively.

"Part of one," replied Crewe.

Marsland accepted this reply as an intimation that the detective was not prepared to disclose his theory at that stage.

"That story about the pendant was remarkable," he said. "Do you believe it?"

"It is not outside the range of possibility," replied Crewe. "Some remarkable results have been achieved by psychists who possess what they call mediumistic powers."

"Do you really think it possible that, by surrendering herself to some occult influence, this woman was able to reproduce for herself the scene between Constable Bell and his sweetheart, and see the pendant drop?"

"That is the way in which psychists would explain it, but I think it can be accounted for in a much less improbable way. I know, from my own investigations into spiritualism and its claims, that some mediums are capable, under favourable conditions, of reading a little of another person's thoughts, provided the other person is sympathetic and tries to help. But even in this limited field failure is more frequent than success. But let us suppose that Constable Bell was an extremely sympathetic subject on this occasion. How was this woman, after getting Bell to concentrate his thoughts on the events of the day when he lost the pendant, able to discover it by reading Bell's thoughts?"

"Bell's thoughts would not be of much help to her, as he did not remember when or how he lost the pendant," said Marsland.

"The point I am aiming at is that sub-consciously Bell may have been aware of the conditions under which he lost the pendant, and yet not consciously aware of them. The human brain does not work as a uniform piece of machinery; it works in sections or in compartments. Suppose part of Bell's brain became aware that the pendant had become detached and tried to communicate the fact to that part of Bell's brain where he keeps toll of his personal belongings. That would be the normal procedure, and under normal conditions a connection between these two compartments of the brain would be established, and Bell would stoop down and pick up the pendant. But on this occasion Bell was intoxicating himself with kisses and had put his brain into an excitable state. Possibly that part which keeps toll of his personal possessions was particularly excited at the prospect of adding the lady to the list of Bell's belongings.

"Let us assume that it was too excited to hear the small warning voice which was crying out about the lost pendant. And when Bell's brain had become normal the small voice had become too weak to be heard. It was never able subsequently to establish a connection between that part of the brain to which it belonged and that part where Bell keeps toll of his property—perhaps it never tried again, being under the impression that its first attempts had succeeded. And so when Bell was asked by Mrs. Grange to concentrate his thoughts on the lost pendant he was able to reproduce the state in which his brain was at the time, and the medium was able to hear the warning in Bell's brain which Bell himself had never consciously heard."

Marsland looked hard at Crewe to see whether he was speaking jestingly or seriously, for he had been shrewd enough to discover that the detective had a habit at times of putting forth fanciful theories the more effectually to conceal his real thoughts. It was when Crewe talked most that he revealed least, Marsland thought. But as Crewe's face, as usual, did not reveal any clue to his mind, the young man murmured something about the explanation of the pendant being interesting, but unscientific.

"What science cannot explain, it derides," was Crewe's reply.

"Do you sympathize with the complaints of the spiritualists, that scientists adopt an attitude of negation and derision towards spiritualism, instead of an attitude of investigation?" continued Marsland inquiringly.

"I think there is some truth in that complaint, though as far as I am concerned I have not found much truth in spiritualism. However, Mrs. Grange may be able to convince me that she uses her powers to enlighten, and not to deceive. I am most anxious to see her."