They would stand, with their faces hidden, beneath the trees, and Winter was to bring the poacher towards them, after asking him to pick out the man who most resembled the person he had seen standing in the avenue at Beechcroft.

The test was most successful.  “Rabbit Jack” instantly selected Hume.

“It’s either the chap hisself or his dead spit,” was the poacher’s dictum.

Then he was cautioned to keep his own counsel as to the incident, and he went away to get gloriously drunk on half-a-sovereign.

In the seclusion of the sitting-room, Winter related the outcome of his inquiries.  They were negative.

Landlords and barmaids remembered a few commercial travellers by referring to old lodgers, but they one and all united in the opinion that New Year’s Eve was a most unlikely time for the hotels to contain casual visitors.

“I was afraid it would be a wild-goose chase from the start,” opined Winter.

“Obviously,” replied Brett; “yet ten minutes ago you produced a man who actually watched the murderer for a considerable time that night.”

Whilst Winter was searching his wits for a suitable argument, the barrister continued: 

“Where is Fergusson now?”

“I can answer that,” exclaimed Hume.  “He is my father’s butler.  When Capella came to Beechcroft, the old man wrote and said he could not take orders from an Italian.  It was like receiving instructions from a French cook.  So my father brought him to Glen Tochan.”

“Then your father must send him to London.  He may be very useful.  I understand he was very many years at Beechcroft?”

“Forty-six, man and boy, as he puts it.”

“Write to-morrow and bring him to town.  He can stay at your hotel.  I will not keep him long; just one conversation—­no more.  Can you or your father tell me anything else about that sword?”

“I fear not.  Admiral Cunningham—­”

“I guess I’m the authority there,” broke in Winter.  “I got to know all about it from Mr. Okasaki.”

“And who, pray, is Mr. Okasaki?”

“A Japanese gentleman, who came to Ipswich to hear the first trial.  He was interested in the case, owing to the curious fact that a murder in a little English village should be committed with such a weapon, so he came down to listen to the evidence.  And, by the way, he took a barmaid back with him.  There was rather a sensation.”

“The Japs are very enterprising.  What did he tell you about the sword?”

The detective produced a note-book.

“It is all here,” he said, turning over the leaves.  “A Japanese Samurai, or gentleman, in former days carried two swords, one long blade for use against his enemies, and a shorter one for committing suicide if he was beaten or disgraced.  The sword Mr. Hume gave his cousin was a short one, and the knife which accompanied it is called the Ko-Katana, or little sword.  As well as I could understand Mr. Okasaki, a Jap uses this as a pen-knife, and also as a queer sort of visiting-card.  If he slays an enemy he sticks the Ko-Katana between the other fellow’s ribs, or into his ear, and leaves it there.”