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Deceased had left for Australia some fifteen years ago, owing to some financial trouble at home.

Deceased was not well spoken of in the village from which he and his brother had come.

Deceased and his brother had never been on good terms, and the fact that Mark Ablett had come into money had been a cause of great bitterness between them.

It was shortly after this that Robert had left for Australia.

He had made inquiries at Stanton station.

It had been market-day at Stanton and the station had been more full of arrivals than usual.

Nobody had particularly noticed the arrival of Robert Ablett; there had been a good many passengers by the 2.10 train that afternoon, the train by which Robert had undoubtedly come from London.

A witness, however, would state that he noticed a man resembling Mark Ablett at the station at 3.53 p.m.

that afternoon, and this man caught the 3.55 up train to town.

There was a pond in the grounds of the Red House. He had dragged this, but without result....

Antony listened to him carelessly, thinking his own thoughts all the time.

Medical evidence followed, but there was nothing to be got from that.

He felt so close to the truth; at any moment something might give his brain the one little hint which it wanted.

Inspector Birch was just pursuing the ordinary.

Whatever else this case was, it was not ordinary.

There was something uncanny about it.

John Borden was giving evidence.

He was on the up platform seeing a friend off by the 3.55 on Tuesday afternoon.

He had noticed a man on the platform with coat collar turned up and a scarf round his chin.

He had wondered why the man should do this on such a hot day.

The man seemed to be trying to escape observation.

Directly the train came in, he hurried into a carriage.

And so on.

"There's always a John Borden at every murder case," said Antony to himself.

"Have you ever seen Mark Ablett?"

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