“I never thought, when I opened up last Saturday, that that poor fellow was being murdered at that very minute,” he began. “Just about five o’clock, wasn’t it, sir?”

Whyland nodded. “The clock was striking five as they picked him up,” he replied.

“I remember the evening well,” continued the proprietor. “Though it wasn’t until nigh upon seven that I heard anything about it. I says to my wife it was that wet and foggy that even our regulars wouldn’t be in till later. But there you are, you never can tell. I hadn’t opened this bar, not more than five minutes, when in comes one of my best customers, Sam Copperdock, the tobacconist. You may have met him here, sir?”

Whyland nodded non-committally, and the landlord proceeded.