ng. There had,
in fact, on the night before last, been a "hot press," as it was
called. At least a score of bodies of the Royal Marines, in parties
of twelve and fourteen, each accompanied by a marine and a naval
officer, had boarded the colliers off the new quay, the ships in
Cattewater and the Pool, and had swept the streets and gin-shops.
A gang of seamen, too, had entered the theatre and cleared the whole
gallery except the women; had even descended upon the stage and
carried off practically the whole company of actors, including the
famous Mr. Sturge. (This Mr. Basket could confirm.) The whole town
was in a ferment. He had already received at least seventy visits
from inquirers after missing relatives.

But the discoveries in the fish-pond led him clean off the scent.
No press-gang would enter a private house or a private garden such as
Mr. Basket's. Even supposing that their friend had fallen a victim
to the press while walking the streets, they must admit it to be
inconceivable that he should return and cast a latchkey and a
snuff-box into Mr. Basket's fish-pond.

"_Cui bono?_" asked the Chief Constable.

"I beg your pardon?" said Mr. Basket.

"Well, in other words, what do you suggest he did it for? It's an
expression we use in these cases."

The Doctor granted the force of the Chief Constable's reasoning, but
suggested that there could be no harm in rowing round the Fleet and
making inquiries.

The Chief Constable answered again that the squadron--it was no more
than a squadron--had taken precious good care to time the press for
the eve of sailing; had in fact weighed anchor in the small hours of
the morning, and by this time had probably joined Admiral
Cornwallis's fleet off Brest.

What was to be done?

"In my belief," said the Chief Constable, "it's a case of foul play.
Mind, I'm not accusing anyone," he went on; "but this person
disappeared from your house, Mr. Basket, and in your place I'd put
myself right with the public by getting out a handbill at once."

This dreadful possibility of coming under public suspicion had never
occurred to Mr. Basket. He begged to be supplied at once with pen,
ink and paper.

"'Lost, stolen or strayed'--is that how you begin?"

"If you ask me," said the Chief Constable, "I'd put him down as
'Missing.' It's more usual."

"'Missing,' then. 'On the night of May 2nd--'"

"From your house."

"Must that go in?" Mr. Basket pleaded.

"If you want to pu