ad it in for him. My belief is that he had somehow
got to know that some of them were definitely after him at last. What
licks me altogether is why he should have just laid himself open to them
the way he did--why he never tried to dodge, but walked right down into
the garden yesterday morning to be shot at."

Mr. Bunner ceased to speak, and for a little while both men sat with
wrinkled brows, faint blue vapors rising from their cigars. Then Trent
rose. "Your theory is quite fresh to me," he said. "It's perfectly
rational, and it's only a question of whether it fits all the facts. I
mustn't give away what I'm doing for my newspaper, Mr. Bunner, but I
will say this: I have already satisfied myself that this was a
premeditated crime, and an extraordinarily cunning one at that. I'm
deeply obliged to you. We must talk it over again." He looked at his
watch. "I have been expected for some time by my friend. Shall we make a
move?"

"Two o'clock," said Mr. Bunner, consulting his own as he got up from the
foot-board. "Ten A. M. in little old New York. You don't know Wall
Street, Mr. Trent. Let's you and I hope we never see anything nearer
hell than what's loose in the Street this minute."

CHAPTER VI

THE LADY IN BLACK

The sea broke raging upon the foot of the cliff under a good breeze; the
sun flooded the land with life from a dappled blue sky. In this
perfection of English weather, Trent, who had slept ill, went down
before eight o'clock to a pool among the rocks, the direction of which
had been given him, and dived deep into clear water. Between vast gray
boulders he swam out to the tossing open, forced himself some little way
against a coast-wise current, and then returned to his refuge battered
and refreshed. Ten minutes later he was scaling the cliff again, and his
mind, cleared for the moment of a heavy disgust for the affair he had in
hand, was turning over his plans for the morning.

It was the day of the inquest, the day after his arrival in the place.
He had carried matters not much farther after parting with the American
on the road to Bishopsbridge. In the afternoon he had walked from the
inn into the town, accompanied by Mr. Cupples, and had there made
certain purchases at a chemist's shop, conferred privately for some time
with a photographer, sent off a reply-paid telegram, and made an inquiry
at the telephone-exchange. He had said but little about the case to Mr.
Cupples, who seemed incurious on