“And you will have observed before, and you will observe now, that this knot, which was drawn chock- tight round his neck by the strain of his own arms, is a slip-knot:” holding it up for demonstration.

Plain enough.

“Likewise you will have observed how he had run the other end of this rope to his boat.”

It had the curves and indentations in it still, where it had been twined and bound.

“Now see,” said Mr Inspector, “see how it works round upon him. It’s a wild tempestuous evening when this man that was,” stooping to wipe some hailstones out of his hair with an end of his own drowned jacket, “— there! Now he’s more like himself, though he’s badly bruised, — when this man that was, rows out upon the river on his usual lay. He carries with him this coil of rope. He always carries with him this coil of rope. It’s as well known to me as he was himself. Sometimes it lay in the bottom of his boat. Sometimes he hung it loose round his neck. He was a light-dresser was this man; — you see?” lifting the loose neckerchief over his breast, and taking the opportunity of wiping the dead lips with it — “and when it was wet, or freezing, or blew cold, he would hang this coil of line round his neck. Last evening he does this. Worse for him! He dodges about in his boat, does this man, till he gets chilled. His hands,” taking up one of them, which dropped like a leaden weight, “get numbed. He sees some object that’s in his way of business, floating. He makes ready to secure that object. He unwinds the end of his coil that he wants to take some turns on in his boat, and he takes turns enough on it to secure that it shan’t run out. He makes it too secure, as it happens. He is a little longer about this than usual, his hands being numbed. His object drifts up, before he is quite ready for it. He catches at it, thinks he’ll make sure of the contents of the pockets anyhow, in case he should be parted from it, bends right over the stern, and in one of these heavy squalls, or in the cross-swell of two steamers, or in not being quite prepared, or through all or most or some, gets a lurch, overbalances and goes head-foremost overboard. Now see! He can swim, can this man, and instantly he strikes out. But in such striking-out he tangles his arms, pulls strong on the slip-knot, and it runs home. The object he had expected to take in tow, floats by, and his own boat tows him dead, to where we found him, all entangled in his own line. You’ll ask me how I make out about the pockets? First, I’ll tell you more; there was silver in ’em. How do I make that out? Simple and satisfactory. Because he’s got it here.” The lecturer held up the tightly clenched right hand.

“What is to be done with the remains?” asked Lightwood.

“If you wouldn’t object to standing by him half a minute, sir,” was the reply, “I’ll find the nearest of our men to come and take charge of him; — I still call it him, you see,” said Mr Inspector, looking back as he went, with a philosophical smile upon the force of habit.

“Eugene,” said Lightwood — and was about to add “we may wait at a little distance,” when turning his head he found that no Eugene was there.

He raised his voice and called “Eugene! Holloa!” But no Eugene replied.

It was broad daylight now, and he looked about. But no Eugene was in all the view.

Mr Inspector speedily returning down the wooden stairs, with a police constable, Lightwood asked him if he had seen his friend leave them? Mr Inspector could not exactly say that he had seen him go, but had noticed that he was restless.

“Singular and entertaining combination, sir, your friend.”

“I wish it had not been a part of his singular and entertaining combination to give me the slip under these dreary circumstances at this time of the morning,” said Lightwood. “Can we get anything hot to drink?”