s on the ground, there were no signs of any
other feet. At a little distance the sagacious officer himself was
pursuing his investigations, walking backwards and forwards with his
body bent double, and his eyes fixed on the ground.

"Not a trace of him anywhere," said he, straightening himself up as we
approached. "I was afraid there wouldn't be after all this dry weather.
I shall have to try a different tack. This is a small place, and if
those boots belong to anyone living here they'll be sure to be known."

"The deceased gentleman--Mr. Hearn, I think you called him," said
Thorndyke as we turned towards the village--"is he a native of the
locality?"

"Oh no, sir," replied the officer. "He is almost a stranger. He has only
been here about three weeks; but, you know, in a little place like this
a man soon gets to be known--and his business, too, for that matter," he
added, with a smile.

"What was his business, then?" asked Thorndyke.

"Pleasure, I believe. He was down here for a holiday, though it's a good
way past the season; but, then, he had a friend living here, and that
makes a difference. Mr. Draper up at the Poplars was an old friend of
his, I understand. I am going to call on him now."

We walked on along the footpath that led towards the village, but had
only proceeded two or three hundred yards when a loud hail drew our
attention to a man running across a field towards us from the direction
of the cliff.

"Why, here is Mr. Draper himself," exclaimed the sergeant, stopping
short and waving his hand. "I expect he has heard the news already."

Thorndyke and I also halted, and with some curiosity watched the
approach of this new party to the tragedy. As the stranger drew near we
saw that he was a tall, athletic-looking man of about forty, dressed in
a Norfolk knickerbocker suit, and having the appearance of an ordinary
country gentleman, excepting that he carried in his hand, in place of a
walking-stick, the staff of a butterfly-net, the folding ring and bag of
which partly projected from his pocket.

"Is it true, Sergeant?" he exclaimed as he came up to us, panting from
his exertions. "About Mr. Hearn, I mean. There is a rumour that he has
been found dead on the beach."

"It's quite true, sir, I am sorry to say; and, what is worse, he has
been murdered."

"My God! you don't say so!"

He turned towards us a face that must ordinarily have been jovial
enough, but was now white and scared and, after a