"Now for our imitaciong Sherlock Holmes," said Martin. "The 'phone
message was that a man had found a fur coat and a gold-mounted stick
under some bushes by the left bank of the Seine four hundred metres down
stream. He was apparently some sort of workman, and explained that he
had no wish to be mixed up with the police. On the other hand, he felt
he had to do his duty by the civilization that provides him with a blue
blouse, bread, and bock, so he 'phoned the news to us.... Wish everyone
was as sensible," he added, viewing the matter from a professional
standpoint.
Three hundred yards down, they began to look very carefully amongst the
bushes that line the water's edge. It was not long before they came to
the object of their search. Under an alder-bush they found it--a heavy
fur-lined coat sodden with the river water, and a gold-mounted stick.
The maker's name had been cut out of the overcoat; its pockets were
empty.
Martin held it up. "Did this belong to your man?" he asked, as though
sure of the answer.
"No," answered Dean decisively.
The journalist whisked around in complete surprise and looked at him
keenly. "_Sure?_"
"Positive. There was astrakhan on the collar and cuffs of the coat my
man was wearing."
"And this stick?"
"It looks much the same kind, but then there are thousands of sticks
like this in use."
The stout little journalist looked pathetically disappointed. For the
moment he had no thought beyond the professional aspect of the
matter--the unearthing of a "good story"--and the human significance of
what he had found was entirely out of mind.
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