Malcolm Sage returned, he found them discussing the
prospects of Dempsey against Carpentier.

Handing back the packet of letters to Inspector Murdy, Malcolm Sage
resumed his seat, and proceeded to re-light his pipe.

"Spotted the culprit, Mr. Sage?" enquired the inspector, with
something that was very much like a wink in the direction of Freynes.

"I think so," was the quiet reply. "You might meet me at Gylston
Vicarage to-morrow at three. I'll telegraph to Blade to be there too.
You had better bring the schoolmaster also."

"You mean----" began the inspector, rising.

"Exactly," said Malcolm Sage. "It's past eleven, and we all require
sleep."

II

The next afternoon the study of the vicar of Gylston presented a
strange appearance.

Seated at Mr. Crayne's writing-table was Malcolm Sage, a small
attache-case at his side, whilst before him were several piles of
sealed packets. Grouped about the room were Inspector Murdy, Robert
Freynes, Mr. Gray, and the vicar.

All had their eyes fixed upon Malcolm Sage; but with varying
expressions. Those of the schoolmaster were frankly cynical. The
inspector and Freynes looked as if they expected to see produced
from the attache-case a guinea-pig or a white rabbit, pink-eyed and
kicking; whilst the vicar had obviously not yet recovered from his
surprise at discovering that the stranger, who had shown such a
remarkable knowledge of monumental brasses and Norman architecture,
was none other than the famous investigator about whom he had read
so much in the newspapers.

With quiet deliberation Malcolm Sage opened the attache-case and
produced a spirit lamp, which he lighted. He then placed a metal
plate upon a rest above the flame. On this he imposed a thicker
plate of a similar metal that looked like steel; but it had a handle
across the middle, rather resembling that of a tool used by
plasterers.

He then glanced up, apparently unconscious of the almost feverish
interest with which his every movement was being watched.

"I should like Miss Crayne to be present," he said.

As he spoke the door opened and the curate entered, his dark,
handsome face lined and careworn. It was obvious that he had
suffered. He bowed, and then looked about him, without any
suggestion of embarrassment.

Malcolm Sage rose and held out his hand; Freynes followed suit.

"Ask Miss Muriel to come here," said the vicar to the maid as she
was closing the door.

The curate took the sea