r the body of a man half
hidden in a tangle of brambles.

The corpse's feet pointed towards the path, and I recognized the
shoes, as also the sea-cloth trousers, before Mr. Rogers--cursing in
his hurry rather than at the pain of his lacerated hands--tore the
brambles aside and revealed its face--the face of Captain Coffin,
blue-cold in death and staring up from its pillow of rotted leaves.

I felt myself reeling. But it was Mr. Goodfellow who reeled against
me, and would have fallen if Hosken the constable had not sprung upon
one knee and caught him.

"If you ask my opinion," I heard Hosken saying as he raised himself
and held Mr. Goodfellow upright, steadying him, "'tis a case o'
guilty conscience, an' I never in my experience saw a clearer."

CHAPTER XIII.

CLUES IN A TANGLE.

"Guilty or not," said Mr. Jack Rogers, sharply, "I'll take care he
doesn't escape. Run you down to Miss Belcher's kennels, and fetch
along a couple of men--any one you can pick up--to help. And don't
make a noise as you go past the cottage; the women there are
frightened enough already. Come to think of it, I heard some fellows
at work as I drove by just now, thinning timber in the plantation
under the kennels. Off with you, man, and don't stand gaping like a
stuck pig!"

Thus adjured, Constable Hosken ran, leaving us three to watch the
body.

"The man's pockets have been rifled, that's plain enough," Mr. Rogers
muttered, as he bent over it again, and with that I suppose I must
have made some kind of exclamation, for he looked up at me, still
with a horrified frown.

"Hallo! You know him?"

I nodded.

"His name's Coffin. He came here from Falmouth."

For a moment Mr. Rogers did not appear to catch the words. His eyes
travelled from my face to Mr. Goodfellow's.

"You, too?"

"Knew him intimate. Know him? Why, I live but two doors away from
him in the same court."

"Look here," said Mr. Rogers, slowly, after a pause, "this is a black
business, and a curst mysterious one, and I wasn't born with the gift
of seeing daylight through a brick wall. But speaking as a
magistrate, Mr. What's-your-name, I ought to warn you against saying
what may be used for evidence. As for you, lad, you'd best tell as
much as you know. What d'ye say his name was?"

"Coffin, sir."

"H'm, he's earned it. The back of his head's smashed all to pieces.
Lived in Falmouth, you say? And you knew him there?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then wha