duke," suggested
Master Mounce with some diffidence, for brandy was an over-expensive
commodity which not many Kentish squires cared to afford.

"Brandy, of course, good master!" quoth de Chavasse lustily, "brandy is
the nectar of the gods. Here!" he added, drawing a piece of gold from a
tiny pocket concealed in the lining of his doublet, "will this pay for
thy half-bottle of nectar."

"Over well, good Sir Marmaduke," said Master Mounce, as he stooped to
the ground. From underneath the table he now drew forth a glass and a
bottle: the latter he uncorked with slow and deliberate care, and then
filled the glass with its contents, whilst Sir Marmaduke watched him
with impatient eyes.

"Will you join me, squire?" asked de Chavasse, as he lifted the small
tumbler and gazed with marked appreciation at the glistening and
transparent liquid.

"Nay, thanks," replied Boatfield with a laugh, "I care naught for these
foreign decoctions. Another mug, or even two, of buttered ale, good
landlord," he added, turning to Master Mounce.

In the meanwhile petty constable Pyot had stood respectfully at
attention ready to relate for the hundredth time, mayhap, all that he
knew and all that he meant to know about the mysterious crime.

Sir Marmaduke would of a surety ask many questions, for it was passing
strange that he had taken but little outward interest in the matter up
to now.

"Well, Pyot," he now said, beckoning to the man to approach, "tell us
what you know. By Gad, 'tis not often we indulge in a genuine murder in
Thanet! Where was it done? Not on my land, I hope."

"The watches found the body on the beach, your Honor," replied Pyot,
"the head was mutilated past all recognition ... the heavy chalk
boulders, your Honor ... and a determined maniac methinks, sir, who
wanted revenge against a personal enemy.... Else how to account for such
a brutal act? ..."

"I suppose," quoth Sir Marmaduke lightly, as he sipped the brandy,
"that the identity of the man has been quite absolutely determined."

"Aye! aye! your Honor," rejoined Pyot gravely, "the opinion of all those
who have seen the body is that it is that of a foreigner ... Prince of
Orleans he called himself, who has been lodging these past months at
this place here!"

And the petty constable gave a quick nod in the direction of the
cottage.

"Ah! I know but little about him," now said Sir Marmaduke, turning to
speak to Squire Boatfield, "although he lived here, on what