was
making the effort to collect his scattered senses and to move from this
fateful and dangerous spot, he saw the three men reappear in the
doorway of the pavilion.

The breeches and rough shirt of the smith hung over the arm of
Hymn-of-Praise Busy; the dark stain on the shirt was plainly visible by
the light of one of the lanterns.

Petty constable Pyot had the leather wallet in his hand, and was peeping
down with grave curiosity at the bundle of papers which it contained.

Then with infinite caution, Marmaduke de Chavasse worked his way between
the trees towards the old wall which encircled his park. The three men
obviously would be going back either to Acol Court, or mayhap, straight
to the village.

Sir Marmaduke knew of a gap in the wall which it was quite easy to
climb, even in the dark; a path through the thicket at that point led
straight out towards the coast.

He had struck that path from the road on the night when he met the smith
on the cliffs.

The snow only penetrated in sparse flakes to the thicket here. Although
the branches of the trees were dead, they interlaced so closely overhead
that they formed ample protection against the wet.

But the fury of the gale seemed terrific amongst these trees and the
groaning of the branches seemed like weird cries proceeding from hell.

Anon, the midnight walker reached the open. Here a carpet of coarse
grass peeping through the thin layer of snow gave insecure foothold. He
stumbled as he pursued his way. He was walking in the teeth of the
northwesterly blast now and he could scarcely breathe, for the great
gusts caught his throat, causing him to choke.

Still he walked resolutely on. Icy moisture clung to his hair, and to
his lips, and soon he could taste the brine in the air. The sound of the
breakers some ninety feet below mingled weirdly with the groans of the
wind.

He knew the path well. Had he not trodden it three nights ago, on his
way to meet the smith? Already in the gloom he could distinguish the
broken line of the cliffs sharply defined against the gray density of
the horizon.

As he drew nearer the roar of the breakers became almost deafening. A
heavy sea was rolling in on the breast of the tide.

Still he walked along, towards the brow of the cliffs. Soon he could
distinguish the irregular heap of chalk against which Adam had stood,
whilst he had held the lantern in one hand and gripped the knife in the
other.

The hurricane nearly sw