essing that the bishop was returning,
he stood aside in the shadow of the trees to let his superior pass by.
Like the chaplain, Dr Pendle was streaming with water, and his horse's
hoofs plashed up the sodden ground as though he were crossing a marsh.
By the livid glare of the lightnings which shot streaks of blue fire
through the descending deluge, Cargrim caught a glimpse of the bishop's
face. It was deathly pale, and bore a look of mingled horror and terror.
Another moment and he had passed into the blackness of the drenching
rain, leaving Cargrim marvelling at the torture of the mind which could
produce so terrible an expression.

'It is the face of Cain,' whispered Cargrim to himself. 'What can his
secret be?'

CHAPTER XIV

'RUMOUR FULL OF TONGUES'

It is almost impossible to learn the genesis of a rumour. It may be
started by a look, a word, a gesture, and it spreads with such
marvellous rapidity that by the time public curiosity is fully aroused,
no one can trace the original source, so many and winding are the
channels through which it has flowed. Yet there are exceptions to this
general rule, especially in criminal cases, where, for the safety of the
public, it is absolutely necessary to get to the bottom of the matter.
Therefore, the rumour which pervaded Beorminster on Monday morning was
soon traced by the police to a carter from Southberry. This man
mentioned to a friend that, when crossing the Heath during the early
morning, he had come across the body of a man. The rumour--weak in its
genesis--stated first that a man had been hurt, later on that he had
been wounded; by noon it was announced that he was dead, and finally the
actual truth came out that the man had been murdered. The police
authorities saw the carter and were conducted by him to the corpse,
which, after examination, they brought to the dead-house in Beorminster.
Then all doubt came to an end, and it was officially declared during the
afternoon that Jentham, the military vagabond lately resident at The
Derby Winner, had been shot through the heart. But even rumour, prolific
as it is in invention, could not suggest who had murdered the man.

So unusual an event in the quiet cathedral city caused the greatest
excitement, and the streets were filled with people talking over the
matter. Amateur detectives, swilling beer in public-houses, gave their
opinions about the crime, and the more beer they drank, the wilder and
more impossible