free from all ungraceful haste; the extreme shabbiness of his coat, his ill-arranged neck-tie, escaped from all restraint of collar and waistcoat, and flying loosely behind him; his trousers very much turned up, and very much frayed, and the almost singular height of his loose angular figure. His face, too—she remembered that better than anything—with its pale hollow cheeks and delicate outline, deep-set dark blue eyes, black eyebrows, and long, unkempt hair, which would have looked very much the better for a little trimming. A man utterly regardless of his appearance, untidy, almost slovenly in his attire, yet with something about him different from other men.
He was within a few yards of her when she saw a sudden change flash into his face as their eyes met. He hesitated and a faint color came into his cheeks, only to fade away again immediately, leaving them whiter than ever. There was something in his intense gaze which at that time she had no means of understanding. But it was over in a moment. He advanced rapidly, and stood by her side.
She still watched him. She could see that his whole frame was vibrating with strong internal emotion as he looked downward on the glazed eyes and motionless form of the murdered man. His lips were pallid, and his hands were tightly clasped together. There was one thing which seemed to her very strange. He had not started, or exhibited the least sign of surprise at the dreadful sight. It was almost as though he had known all about it.
"This is a terrible thing," she said in a low tone, breaking the silence between them for the first time. "You have heard of it, I suppose?"
He dropped down on one knee, and bent close over the dead man, feeling his heart and pulse. In that position his face was hidden from her.
"No; I knew nothing. He has been killed—like this?"
"Yes."
"Did anyone see it? Is the man caught?"
"We know nothing," she answered. "We found him like this. There was no one in sight."
He rose deliberately to his feet. Her heart was beating fast now, and she looked searchingly into his face. It told her little. He was grave, but perfectly composed.
"How is it that you are alone here?" he asked. "Does no one else know of this?"
She moved her head in assent.
"Yes; but they have all gone to hunt for the murderer. If only you had been looking from your window, you would have seen it all!"
He did not look as though he shared her regret. He was standing on the other side of the dead man, with his arms folded and his eyes fixed steadily upon the cold white face. He seemed to have forgotten her presence.
"An evil end to an evil life," he said slowly to himself, and then he added something which she did not hear.
"You knew him, then?"
He looked at her for a moment fixedly, and then down again into the dead man's face.
"I have heard of him abroad," he said. "Sir Geoffrey Kynaston was a man with a reputation."
"You will remember that he is dead," she said slowly, for the scorn in his words troubled her.
He bowed his head, and was silent. Watching him closely, she could see that he was far more deeply moved than appeared on the surface. His teeth were set together, and there was a curious faint flush of color in his livid cheeks. She followed his eyes, wondering. They were fixed, not upon the dead man's face, but on the dagger which lay buried in his heart, and the handle of which was still visible.
"That should be a clue," he remarked, breaking a short silence.
"Yes. I hope to God that they will find the wretch!" she answered passionately.
She looked up at him as she spoke. His eyes were traveling over the moor, and his hand was shading them.
"There is some one coming," he said. "We shall know very soon."
She followed his rapt gaze, and saw three men coming toward them. One was her father, another the underkeeper, and the third was a stranger.
CHAPTER V
THE INNER ROOM AT THE FALCON'S NEST
Together they watched the approaching figures. Helen, standing a little apart, had the better view.
"There is my father, and Heggs, and some one whom I do not know," she announced quietly. "I wonder if it is a doctor."
He did not answer her. She glanced toward him, wondering at his silence and rigid attitude. His eyes were still bent upon the three men, and there was a hard, strained look in his white face. While she was watching him she saw a spasm of what seemed almost like physical pain pass across his countenance. Certainly this was no unfeeling man. In his way he seemed as deeply moved as she herself was.
They were quite close now, and she had a good view of the stranger. He did not look, by any means, a person to be afraid of. In all her life she thought she had never seen such a handsome old gentleman—and gentleman he most assuredly was. His hair was quite white, and his beard—carefully trimmed and pointed after the fashion of one of Velasquez' pictures—was of the same color. Yet his walk was upright and vigorous, and he carried himself with dignity. His high forehead, and rather long, oval face, with its delicate, clearly cut features, had at once the stamp of intellect and benevolence, and, as though preserved by careful and refined living, had still much of the freshness of youth. He was dressed in a rough tweed walking-suit, with gaiters and thick boots, and carried under his arm a somewhat ponderous book, and a botanical specimen case. Helen felt a woman's instinctive liking for him before she had even heard him speak.
"Have you thought us long, Helen?" her father exclaimed anxiously. "We haven't seen anything of the scoundrel, but Heggs was fortunate enough to meet Sir Allan Beaumerville on the moor, and he very kindly offered to return."
Sir Allan was on his knees by the body before Mr. Thurwell had finished his sentence. They all watched his brief examination.
"Poor fellow! poor fellow!" he exclaimed in a shocked tone. "That wretched thing"—lightly touching the handle of the dagger—"is clean through his heart. It was a strong, cruel arm that drove that home. Nothing can be done, of course. He must have died within a few seconds!" He rose from his knees and looked around. "What is to be done with the body?" he asked. "It must be removed somewhere. Sir Geoffrey Kynaston, did you say it was? Dear me! dear me! I knew his sister quite well."
"She is not far away," Mr. Thurwell said. "She and my daughter were awaiting luncheon for us on the cliffs yonder, when this horrible thing occurred. Lathon went back to look for her. We were afraid that she might follow us here. She was very fond of her brother, and he had only just returned home after many years' traveling."
"Poor fellow!" Sir Allan said softly. "But about moving him. Who lives in that queer-looking place yonder?"
Mr. Thurwell, who knew his tenant by sight, although they had never spoken, looked at him and hesitated. Sir Allan did the same.
