As he crossed the street on this errand on this particular evening, Postick, the local bill-poster, came hurrying out of the printer's shop with a bundle of handbills under his arm, and as he sped past Stoner, thrust a couple of them into the clerk's hand.
"Here y'are, Mr.Stoner!" he said without stopping.

"Something for you to set your wits to work on.

Five hundred reward--for a bit o' brain work!" Stoner, who thought Postick was chaffing him, was about to throw the handbills, still damp from the press, into the gutter which he was stepping over.

But in the light of an adjacent lamp he caught sight of the word _Murder_ in big staring capitals at the top of them.

Beneath it he caught further sight of familiar names--and at that he folded up the bills, went into the Grey Mare, sat down in a quiet corner, and read carefully through the announcement.