CHAPTER 5"This is a queer case," Inspector Stoddart said slowly. "There is something about it I don't understand, I can't fathom—"
Harbord made no rejoinder. He looked tired and worried. The two men were sitting in the little room the inspector had engaged at the "Medchester Arms." It was a small, unpretentious village inn, and they had been fortunate in securing the rooms vacated that morning by Maurice Stainer and his sister. They had just finished their midday meal—the cold beef and pickles which, with a slice of apple pasty, was all that Holford could produce in the way of luncheon at the end of the week.
A box of cigarettes stood on the table. Stoddart stretched out his hand and took one.
"There's nothing like a smoke for clearing one's brain; to my way of thinking, nothing beats a
