had been occupied by the man whom we had been watching.
The oil lamp on the table represented the glow which we had seen from outside. It was now in the hand of Cecil Barker, who held it toward us as we entered. Its light shone upon his strong, resolute, clean-shaved face and his menacing eyes.
“What the devil is the meaning of all this?” he cried. “What are you after, anyhow?”
Holmes took a swift glance round, and then pounced upon a sodden bundle tied together with cord which lay where it had been thrust under the writing table.
“This is what we are after, Mr. Barker,—this bundle, weighted with a dumb-bell, which you have just raised from the bottom of the moat.”
Barker stared at Holmes with amazement in his face. “How in thunder came you to know anything about it?” he asked.
“Simply that I put it there.”
“You put it there! You!”
“Perhaps I should have said ‘replaced it there,’” said Holmes. “You will remember, Inspector MacDonald, that I was somewhat struck
