see you before I pulled him in, just in case. What puzzled me was the lamp being lit and the blind up, if he’d no right to be there. There, was a bundle on the floor beside him.”

“I’m glad you came in first. How long have you been on duty in the village?”

“Matter of a year and a half now, sir. I was transferred here just about the time Mr. Thursby left Beech Lodge.”

“Well, I’ve been here a little more than a week. You knew, of course, that this was Mr. Millicent’s house?”

“Yes, sir, we all know that. There wasn’t much chance of forgetting it.”

“But I don’t suppose you personally know anything about his death—or murder, if you like?”

The constable shook his head. “I know what the rest of the force knows, and I’ve read the evidence at the inquest. But there wasn’t anything dug up then that was of any real use.”

Derrick nodded. “I had heard nothing of it up to a week ago, not even a whisper when I leased this house last month. Now I’m beginning to feel as though I’d known it all my life. What does the sergeant think about it?”

“I’m not supposed to say anything about what’s not my duty, sir,” replied the man a trifle stiffly.

“You’re probably right there; is this the first time you’ve been in this room?”

The constable looked ponderously about, his eyes glinting at sight of the desk. He knew what had happened there. Then at the portrait, with a hard stare.

“Yes, sir, first time.”

“Ever been in the house at all?”

“No, sir, never crossed the door-step.”

“I suppose you know that Mr. Millicent was found dead at this desk with a stab in his neck? That’s him above the mantel. They say it’s very like him and, oddly, something like me.”

“I was told about that, sir. A harmless-looking gentleman, I should say.”

“And you’ll probably remember that the only person on whom suspicion really fell was Mr. Millicent’s gardener. I think that’s common knowledge, too.”

“Yes, sir, it is, but he cleared himself somehow, got out of 

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