"What sort of a clue ?" "It's a wonder it didn't strike me--and you, too--at first," said Cotherstone, with a queer sound that was half a chuckle.

"But as long as it's struck somebody, eh?
One's as good as another.

You can't think of what it is, now ?" "I don't know what you're thinking about," replied Bent, half impatiently.
Cotherstone gave vent to an unmistakable chuckle at that, and he motioned them to follow him into the cottage.
"Come and see for yourselves, then," he said.

"You'll spot it.

But, anyway--Mr.Brereton, being a stranger, can't be expected to." The three men walked into the living-room of the cottage--a good-sized, open-raftered, old-fashioned place, wherein burnt a bright fire, at either side of which stood two comfortable armchairs.