The detective fingered the label and read the address aloud.
"'Mr. Harvey Grimm, The Crown Hotel, Exford.'"
"That, of course," Harvey Grimm continued drily, "is not evidence, as the label is in my own handwriting, but you will find that the golf clubs there bear a railway label, I think."
The detective turned the bag around and nodded.
"Very interesting," he admitted, "but Exford—at this time of the year!"
"You're no sportsman, Brodie," Harvey Grimm said reproachfully, "or you'd know all about the March trout. Just a moment. Come back into the sitting-room."
He led the way, searched for a moment on the sideboard and threw a Daily Mirror on to the table. Brodie adjusted his eyeglasses. In the left-hand corner of one of the inner pages was a small picture of a man fishing, and underneath:—
Fine catch of Mr. Harvey Grimm, a London sportsman, in the River Ex, last Monday.
"Quite a good likeness, too," the detective observed, as he laid down the newspaper. "Say, this is very interesting, Grimm! It disposes altogether of one of my theories. I had no idea that you possessed such simple tastes. I've done a little sea-fishing myself. Well, well! Still—now, Ditchwater!—you got back in time last night to help yourself to Madame de Borria's necklace!"
It was all an affair of seconds. Ditchwater had suddenly caught Harvey Grimm's two arms from behind whilst Brodie's hand had dived into his coat pocket. The necklace glittered upon the table. There was a moment's intense silence. Brodie was breathing quickly. There was a gleam of triumph in his eyes.