“You reason like a book,” said Ned. “Really I think you are a dangerous man, Brews. You’ll make something next of my having gone down to Fen Court to recover my cigarette-case.”

  “It’s just because I can’t make anything of it that I am growing so fond of you, sir,” Brews replied, amiably. “Your doings there, small as they were, have given me a lot of thinking.”

  “I call your work low cunning,” Ned protested. “Especially your foul tactics at the inquest. I saw your hand in the background, doling out evidence to the coroner, holding back what suited you, spoon-feeding your model jury, and at last getting a right verdict. Where do you learn these things in the country, Brews?”

  “From the folk who live there,” said the inspector, laughing. “You try to do a yokel down in a deal, sir, and you’ll be surprised. Monkeys aren’t in it—not wagon loads of ’em! But to get back to our business, I’d give something to know what you did exactly when you got to Fen Court that night.”

  “You must warn me, first, inspector!”

  “No, sir, I’ll appeal to your better nature, as they say, and look to Miss Johnson to back me. Nancy stared at Ned. “Have you been keeping anything back from me? If you have, I call it a dirty trick! Cheating inspectors, who know too much already, is one thing, but——”

  “Wait,” said Ned. “I apologise to you for that, and to Brews for underrating his eyes. For I suppose he does—or has, come to look at the gas fittings.”

  “I did look at them, sir, and at the meter,” replied the inspector. “In other words, I had a squint at the lamps. But there wasn’t one filled, and not a drop of paraffn in the house.”

  Ned looked thoughtful. “I meant to try an experiment and forgot. We’ll try it together tomorrow night, inspector.”

  “That’s right. Keep on being mean!” Nancy reproached him.

  “The time has come for complete candour,” Ned replied. “The facts are these. There are no gas or electric mains connected up with Fen Court, Nancy. It depends for its illumination on oil lamps. But I did not take any oil with me when I went. I only happened to have brought my little electric torch in the car. I often do, since I can have a glance at any part that goes wrong. When I got into the house, I went to the front room first, and switched the torch on. Within a very short time I found my cigarette-case, switched off, and came away.”

  “Oh; and Mr. Hench saw your light,” said Nancy, beginning to understand. “But so did the constable, later.”

  “They said they saw a light in Fen Court,” Ned observed.

  “When they might merely have seen a light in Pear Cottage,” said Brews. “They’re near enough to be confused, looking from a distance, after dark.”

  “Or again,” Ned took up the tale, “Mr. Hench may have had visitors, and left the light burning.”

  Nancy saw that. “What is your experiment, Ned? Well, I vote we all go over to-morrow night, and enter Fen Court—at least you and I will, while Brews hoofs it over to the cross-roads so intimately connected with Hench’s alibi. From there he will try to discover if he can detect me flashing a torch in the front room.”

  “It’s worth while, sir,” agreed Brews. “If you only flashed it on and off, and that just a little, the constable couldn’t see it after he had left Hench. You weren’t looking long enough for that. So it is pretty clear that he, at any rate, mistook for yours a light showing in Pear Cottage.”

  “We’ll see that to-morrow night, Brews. It’s possible.”

  The inspector looked well satisfied. “I was sure you would respond to kind treatment, sir! That was why I was nursing you gently along. I had an idea there was something dickey about that light business, but couldn’t be sure what it was, or why you were concealing it.”

  “There was just a chance, you see, Ned, that you were the criminal,” said Nancy lightly.

  Brews agreed. “You’re quite right. If the police were to take it on themselves to make exceptions, a lot of crooks would get away. I had to look at every one.”

  Ned grinned, but said nothing. Nancy went on. “It seems to me that you have to look for some one who knew the country well, and knew Mr. Habershon well. That ought to narrow the field.”

  “It does, Miss Johnson, decidedly.”

  “And you have to remember that, though the river Lum does not come nearer Pear Cottage than two hundred yards, there is a drain, six feet wide, and about four feet deep, that does pass one side of the orchard, and debouch into the river,” added Ned.”

  “Quite navigable for a punt,” murmured the inspector. “I saw that at first. But I am not sure yet how I can fit it in.

  Ned shrugged. “Since murder is about as beastly a game as there is—almost worse than writing dirty novels—I don’t like to throw suspicion on a man who may be innocent. But I can say that there is one man down in Essex who knew Mr. Habershon, who pretends to some knowledge he doesn’t possess, who promptly put in an alibi, and lives within reach of a navigable drain. He is also the only man we can think of who might have invited Ivor Rainy and his uncle down at night with some hope of success.”

  Brews looked thoughtful. “I’ve given that full weight, and will look into it further. At the same time, what you and Miss Johnson discovered at North Finchley mustn’t be forgotten. The little man may merely be trying to complete his brother’s book, to work it off as his own.”

  “Since your men are practically robots at routine, Brews, I need hardly ask if they traced all the tramps.”

  “You needn’t, sir. There is no road there between two workhouses, and in addition the part round Fen Court is the hungriest spot in the county. Tramps don’t walk for their health, but to pick up a living. Lonely fen-farmers don’t encourage tramps. They keep savage dogs. There was only one stranger out that night in that direction, apart from a few cars, and he was a carpenter going to a job at Upperton. Besides tramps wouldn’t know about Mr. Habershon’s private business.”

  “That’s why I asked,” said Ned, as Brews rose to go. “The circle of suspects is going to be jolly narrow.”

  Brews nodded, made an appointment for the following night at nine, thanked Nancy for her hospitality, and went out.

  Chapter XVIII

  “ YOU don’t know much about boxing, Nance,” said Ned, as they drove down to Upperton after an early dinner, next day, “but I expect you know that a man may appear to advertise his intentions by feinting with his left, while the right is the fellow he means business with. But if he made a feint at his second, the second would know that he was not to be the receiver of a blow. Therefore he would not put up his hands to defend himself.”

  “Muddled, but still not too cryptic,” replied Nancy, judicially. “What’s this all about?”

  He laughed. “I was just thinking that Brews was not only exceedingly confiding, but he took pains at first to explain to me, and to Hench, what might be the ideas and theories on which he would base his plan of campaign. Did he expect the guilty one to consider what the police hypothesis was, and then take steps to counter it? Did he expect this counter, or camouflage, to give him a clue to the guilty man?”

  “If you would give your innocent Watsoness a clearer clue to what you mean, it would be one good deed,” murmured Nancy.

  He nodded. “If you will be dense, then here you are! Suppose, in Brews’s outline, the guilty man saw that he had left a weak spot. His first step would be to repair that breach in his defences. Brews might watch the repair, and so light on the man he wanted. If you were a murderer, and the police told you that the guilty man could not have worn a black beard——”

  “I couldn’t wear one in any case.”

  “I’m speaking impersonally, you juggins! If they did that, and you were the murderer, you would try at once to show that you had been wearing a false black beard that night, and all that night. In other words, the police would have led you to try to prove something that would let you out, while, all the time, you were letting yourself in. The question is: Did Hench do anything significant after he had been given Brews’s theories?”

  Nancy shrugged. “I see what you mean, but I haven’t an idea what Hench did, or Brews thinks. What I should like to know is this—does Hench also use Brazilian coffee?”

  “We’ll have a look at Hench to-night, and ask him,” said Ned. “Our first job is to settle the question of the lights. Can a torch flash be seen from the cross-roads near Pullen’s farm, and can the lamp in Pear Cottage be seen from there too. Hench has a hanging oil-lamp, as you may have noticed.”

  Nancy reflected for a few moments. “I am trying to remember the map we looked at,” she said, presently. “Unless I am much mistaken, a man looking towards Fen Court from the cross-roads would find Pear Cottage very little to the side of it—behind, of course, but visible from that angle. They would seem pretty near together.”

  Brews was waiting for them at Upperton, and wasted no time getting into the dickey. He was the passenger to be dropped at the cross-roads near Pullen’s Farm, and then Ned and his companion were to drive back to Fen Court to work their end of the experiment.

  As they drove past the empty house, Brews leaned forward and whispered, “Hench is at home. I can see his light anyway.”

  “We’ll pay him a call later, if you’re game,” Ned returned. “I want to know what kind of coffee he drinks.”

  At the cross-roads Brews was put down, lighted a pipe, and settled to wait for the flashes from Fen Court.

  Ned drove back fast, turned the car into the lane, and helped Nancy down. They entered the house a few moments later, and the girl shivered.

  “Cheer up, old thing! there aren’t really any spooks,” he said, noticing her shudder.

  “I was thinking it was a beastly cold time of year to be in empty houses,” she retorted.

  “Well, you would come, you know. Stamp your feet, and swing your arms! My next car shall be a saloon. I can promise you that. But now to repeat my innocuous actions on the night of that beastly business.”

  Nancy watched him as he reconstructed with every regard for accuracy the scene on the night of the murders. He flashed on his light near the door, then jetted the beam into various corners, finally projecting it on the spot where he had found his cigarette-case. Then he shut off the torch, and the séance was over.

  “Now to pick up our friend,” he said, as he led the way out of the house and locked the door behind him. “If Brews did not see that when he was watching for it, it’s unlikely that Hench did by chance.

  Brews was waiting for them when they drove up. “I thought I saw what looked like a quick spark now and then,” he told them, “but I should not have called it a light—that is in Fen Court.”

  Ned wrinkled his brows. “But what about Pear Cottage?”

  “Oh, I saw that all right, Mr. Hope. If I hadn’t known there was a cottage near, I might have said it was yours. But it was a steady light, not a flash, so it must have been Mr. Hench’s lamp that we saw burning as we passed.”

  Ned felt satisfied. “Then Hoggett must have seen the Pear Cottage light. What actually happened I take to be this: When it came out that I had been at Fen Court that night, Hoggett, who had really believed it to be Hench’s lamp, accidentally left on, concluded that he had been wrong. So he admits that he saw a light in Fen Court.”

  “Which explains why he did not go to see,” agreed Brews. “If he had suspected that there was some unauthorised person in Fen Court, he would certainly have gone there to see what was up. He’s a careful officer, but, like so many men, he is anxious to see what he thinks his superiors wish him to see.

  “In other words, he is a human being,” said Nancy. “Now, Ned, don’t stop here all night. Let’s get on to Mr. Hench’s. He may offer us coffee, and so save me from dying of cold, while helping the inspector here to another clue.”

  “The Brazilian coffee? I am not sure I can tell it from the other kind, Miss.”

  “I can!” said Nancy.

  * * *

  “I suppose you haven’t any good news for me about that publisher,” said Mr. Hench, eagerly.

  These were almost the first words he did say, after he had welcomed the party to Pear Cottage, and provided them with seats round his welcome fire.

  Nancy looked down. Brews lit a cigarette, and appeared quite at home. Ned shook his head.

  “Well, no,” he said. “The fact is, Mr. Hench, that my publisher says he isn’t in the habit of publishing books with illustrations only. He thinks well of your photographs and sketches. In fact, he agrees that they are extremely good. But he must see the manuscript of the work before he can go any further.”

  Nancy looked up now. It struck her that Ned was a good liar; at any rate in a good cause. Then she turned her eyes on Hench, who looked a trifle uncomfortable, and from him to Brews, who was beaming in his most fatuous fashion.

  “The letterpress—yes, of course,” said Mr. Hench, stroking his chin. “Some of it’s done, of course, but not quite half. He might see that. By the way,” he added, “are there no publishers who will get out the book as an illustrated book, without letterpress?”

  “There may be, no doubt there are, but I don’t know them, so would have no influence,” said Ned.

  He had got all he wanted, so Nancy took a hand. “How perfectly ripping your fire is, Mr. Hench!” she cried. “We were almost frozen in the car. What asses we were not to bring some hot drinks with us.”

  Mr. Hench smiled at her, no longer uncomfortable. “How remiss of me not to think of it. But here the kettle is nearly boiling. I was thinking of making a cup of coffee when you came in. May I offer you some?”

  Nancy thanked him warmly, as did Ned and the inspector.

  “Is it Brazilian?” asked Nancy, as the little man began to make his preparations. “I love Brazilian.”

  “I don’t know what it is, but Mr. Habershon gave me a pound of it to try, Miss Johnson, the last time I visited his house. It seems to me very good, but then I am not an expert, I’ll put the milk on to boil, if you will wait a minute.”

  The three exchanged glances while he went for the milk, and put it over the fire in a little saucepan, where Nancy promised to watch it. Then he went to his cupboard, and produced four cups and saucers and an ancient coffee-pot.

  “We were all wondering about that light you thought you saw in Fen Court some nights ago,” said Brews, when Hench sat down again. “Could you tell me anything more about it? Was it, for example, a strong or bright light; a steady light or a flickering one.”

  Hench stared at his questioner. “To tell you the truth, Inspector, I have been thinking of that light, too, since. I remember wondering what kind of light it was. It went in and out, and it wasn’t very strong. It struck me that there would hardly be lights in working order in a house that had been empty so long.”

  “That is easily explained,” said Brews, slowly. “We know now that Mr. Hope here simply used his flash—an electric torch. Did it look like that?”

  “Now that you mention it, it did,” said the other.

  “I was wondering,” said Brews, frankly.

  Presently the milk was boiling, and Nancy volunteered to make the coffee; for which the little man thanked her, explaining that he could do for himself pretty well, but did not claim to be a cook.

  “Jolly good this coffee,” said Ned, when they were all supplied, “I must try Brazilian myself—it’s a greener bean, isn’t it?”

  Hench got up and fetched the tin in which he kept it. He handed it over to Ned, who examined it and then passed it on to the inspector.

  Brews managed to palm a few beans before he passed the tin back. “Mr. Habershon was rather proud of his taste in coffee, Mr. Hope tells me,” he murmured, sipping at his cup.

  Hench shook his head. “I don’t know. It was very good of him to think of me, but I’m sure I don’t know—or didn’t till you told me.”

  Brews nodded, and turned the conversation. Half an hour later, they took leave of Mr. Hench, and went back to the car, Ned carrying a parcel of typewritten MS. which represented half the book on the nidification of birds. He asked Mr. Hench, before he went, to write his name and address on the parcel.

  When they were hurrying to Upperton, to drop Brews before going back to town, Ned looked over his shoulder.

  “I say, Inspector, what do you think of our point about the coffee?”

  Brews replied at once. “I thought it odd that Hench didn’t know Mr. Habershon’s tastes. If a man is very particular about his coffee, or his wine, or his tobacco, and offers you some which he gets from a particular source, he generally tells you all about it. I should have expected to hear from Hench that Habershon had told him about his friend in Brazil, who sent him that particular coffee.”

  “But what do you make of it?” Nancy asked.

  “I should be inclined to think that Hench bought the coffee. Mr. Habershon is not alive to tell us otherwise. But then I can’t be sure. It’s a point I’ll have to consider.”

  “He admitted that the light he saw might have been the flash from a torch,” said Ned.

  Brews agreed. “Well, he’s either innocent, or very cunning. I’ll have an eye kept on him. But the next job I have in hand is to search Habershon’s house from top to bottom. There’s just a chance that the bonds are still hidden there somewhere.”