golf-cap had fallen off, and lay near, disclosing that his close-cropped dark hair was somewhat curly, while his face was clean-shaven, and around his collar was a dark blue cravat tied in a bow.
“I wonder who he is?” remarked Booth, as he bent down, and, opening his vest, disclosed the small shot-wound.
“I wonder,” I echoed, at the same time feeling in my pocket the papers and other objects which no doubt would establish his identity. I longed to return to the house and examine them.
“Shot clean through the heart!” exclaimed Richards, kneeling upon the carpet of dead leaves and making as thorough an examination as the fickle light afforded. “He must have fallen and died almost instantly.”
“Could it have been suicide?” inquired Booth.
“I think not. Of course, he might have shot himself, but from the position of the wound I think not. Besides, where is the revolver?”
We looked about, but could not discover it, and at the same time Booth constantly urged upon us not to move about lest we might destroy any footmarks that would lead to a clue.
While Booth was searching the dead man’s pockets of course finding nothing, Eric noticed a light approaching up the road, and pointed it out.
“That’s the gov’nor on ’is bike,” declared the constable. “I left word with my missis to send ’im up ’ere. I’m glad ’e’s come.”
We awaited the arrival of the superintendent, a short, elderly, thick-set man in a dark suit, who spoke sharply to his officer, listened to the doctor’s opinion, and then proceeded to make a methodical examination for himself.
He held the lantern to the dead man’s face, and looked for some moments into his features.
“No. He’s a perfect stranger to me,” the officer declared. “Was there nothing in his pockets?”
“Only some money, sir – a shillin’ or two,” answered the village policeman.
“On tramp, no doubt,” and he examined the palms of both hands, feeling them with his fingers. “Not used to hard work – clean-shaven, too – done it to disguise himself probably. No razor?”
“No, sir.”
“Found the revolver?”
“No, sir.”
“Not searched yet, I suppose?”
“No, sir. I waited until you came, to hear your instructions.”
“Quite right. You’d better move him down to the village, and when it’s light we’ll search all around.” Then, turning to Richards, he added, “There’ll have to be an inquest, doctor. Shall we fix it for the day after to-morrow, at the Spread Eagle at Midhurst? Will that suit you?”
“Yes. I can make the post-mortem to-morrow,” Richards said, and thus it was arranged.
“It’s a mystery – murder without a doubt,” declared the superintendent a few minutes later, while chatting with the doctor. “How long has he been dead, do you think?”
“Eight or nine hours,” I should say.
“Then it was done about dusk, you think?”
“Most probably.”
“He was shot from the front, you notice, not in the back. Therefore, it seems quite evident that some secret meeting took place here before it grew dark. Bear that in mind, Booth, and make every inquiry to find out whether anybody was seen going over the fields.”
“His lordship and his friends were about the farms a-shootin’ all day,” the constable replied.
“Yes,” laughed Eric, “but we didn’t shoot with revolvers,” at which we all three laughed.
I admired my friend for his clever sally, for if anyone actually did see him crossing the turnips there would be no suspicion aroused that he had been witness of any meeting.
The police superintendent made a cursory examination of the surroundings by aid of the lantern, but saw nothing that led him to believe that a struggle had taken place; then eager to return and examine those papers I had in my pocket, we both bade the doctor and policeman good-night, and returned across the fields and along the drift skirting the park, scaling the wall, and so reaching the house by a much shorter route than by re-passing the village.
“I wonder who was in that thicket,” I said, as we walked down the hill, after leaving the scene of the tragedy.
“I saw something white, but whether it was a man’s shirt-front or a woman’s blouse I don’t know,” Eric replied. “Whoever it was may tell the police of our visit there, and we may find ourselves in a most awkward position. It wouldn’t be nice to be charged with trying to defeat the ends of justice, would it?”
“No,” I said, thinking deeply, and recognising the seriousness of the situation. “But how could we have acted otherwise? If we are to save Tibbie we must accept the risk.”
“It’s terrible – terrible,” he murmured. “I wonder who the fellow is?”
“Let’s get back. Come up to my room, and we’ll have a look through what we’ve found,” I said, and then we went on in silence until we managed to reopen the smoking-room window and creep in without attracting the attention of either the dogs or the night-watchman.
Eric mixed two stiff glasses of whisky, and we drank them. I confess that my hand trembled with excitement, while before me as I had walked through the night I saw that staring terror-stricken face – the face of the man who had looked into the Unknown and had been appalled.
Together we crept up to my room, first taking off our boots, as in order to reach the wing in which I was placed we had to pass Jack’s room, and also that of old Lady Scarcliff, who was, I knew, always nervous of burglars. Besides, we had no desire that it should be known that we had been out at that hour – otherwise Sybil might suspect.
Up the Long Gallery we went, past the grim row of armed knights so ghostly in the darkness, past the loudly-ticking old clock, past the deep window-seat wherein Sybil had so nearly betrayed her secret in the sunset hour, and on into my room.
Once within we locked the door, drew the portière to shut out the sound of our voices, and I took from my various pockets all that we had secured from the dead man.
It was a strange collection of papers, letters and various odds and ends, rendered gruesome by the stains of a man’s life-blood upon them.
They lay upon the table in the window and I scarce dared to touch them; stolen as they had been from that silent, staring corpse.
I switched on the table-lamp, and we drew chairs eagerly forward, so excited that neither of us spoke.
The first thing I took in my hand was the small circular medallion of gold with the thin chain which I had taken from the dead man’s neck. About the size of a penny it was, smooth and polished on either side. I turned it over in wonder, and as I did so noticed that although so thin it was really a locket, one of those which is sometimes worn by ladies upon a long chain.
With trembling fingers I inserted my thumb nail into the slit and prised it open.
Upon
