nt was lost.

The writer has been very careful to note the exact times and to confirm
those about which there was any doubt. At nine-twenty on the night when
Constable Wiseman had patrolled the road before Weald Lodge and had seen
Sergeant Smith flying down the road on his bicycle, and on the night of
that day when Mr. Rex Holland had been seen at Uckfield, there arrived
by the London train, which is due at Eastbourne at nine-twenty, Frank
Merrill. The train, as a matter of fact, was three minutes late, and
Frank, who had been in the latter part of the train, was one of the last
of the passengers to arrive at the barrier.

When he reached the barrier, he discovered that he had no railway
ticket, a very ordinary and vexatious experience which travelers before
now have endured. He searched in every pocket, including the pocket of
the light ulster he wore, but without success. He was vexed, but he
laughed because he had a strong sense of humor.

"I could pay for my ticket," he smiled, "but I be hanged if I will!
Inspector, you search that overcoat."

The amused inspector complied while Frank again went through all his
pockets. At his request he accompanied the inspector to the latter's
office, and there deposited on the table the contents of his pockets,
his money, letters, and pocketbook.

"You're used to searching people," he said. "See if you can find it.
I'll swear I've got it about me somewhere."

The obliging inspector felt, probed, but without success, till suddenly,
with a roar of laughter, Frank cried:

"What a stupid ass I am! I've got it in my hat!"

He took off his hat, and there in the lining was a first-class ticket
from London to Eastbourne.

It is necessary to lay particular stress upon this incident, which had
an important bearing upon subsequent events. He called a taxicab, drove
to Weald Lodge, and dismissed the driver in the road. He arrived at
Weald Lodge, by the testimony of the driver and by that of Constable
Wiseman, whom the car had passed, at about nine-forty.

Mr. John Minute at this time was alone; his suspicious nature would not
allow the presence of servants in the house during the interview which
he was to have with his nephew. He regarded servants as spies and
eavesdroppers, and perhaps there was an excuse for his uncharitable
view.

At nine-fifty, ten minutes after Frank had entered the gates of Weald
Lodge, a car with gleaming headlights came quickly from the opposite
directi