eam of silver braid on the clothing of one of
the two men, and he hastened his steps a little as he and Betty emerged
on the level ground at the top of the steep path.

"That's a policeman," he said. "It'll be the constable from Ellersdeane.
The other man looks like a gamekeeper. Let's see if they've heard
anything."

The two figures turned at the sound of footsteps, and came slowly in
Neale's direction. Both recognized him and touched their hats.

"I suppose you're looking round in search of anything about Mr.
Horbury?" suggested Neale. "Heard any news or found any trace?"

"Well, we're what you might call taking a preliminary observation, Mr.
Neale," answered the policeman. "His lordship's sent men out all over
the neighbourhood. No, we've heard nothing, nor seen anything, either.
But, then, there's not much chance of hearing anything hereabouts. The
others have gone round asking at houses, and such-like--to find out if
he was seen to pass anywhere. Of course, his lordship was figuring on
the chance that Mr. Horbury might have had a fit, or something of that
sort, and fallen somewhere along this path, between the town and
Ellersdeane House--it's not much followed, this path. But we've seen
nothing--up to now."

Neale turned to the keeper.

"Were none of your people about here on Saturday night?" he asked.
"You've a good many watchers on the estate, haven't you?"

"Yes, sir--a dozen or more," answered the keeper. "But we don't come
this way--this isn't our land. Our beats lie the other way--t'other side
of the village. We never come on to this part at all."

"This, you know, Mr. Neale," remarked the policeman, jerking his thumb
over the Hollow, "this, in a manner of speaking, belongs to nobody. Some
say it belongs to the Crown--I don't know. All I know is that nobody has
any rights over it--it's been what you might term common land ever since
anybody can remember. This here Mr. Horbury that's missing--your
governor, sir--I once met him out here, and had a bit of talk with him,
and he told me that it isn't even known who worked them old lead-mines
down there, nor who has any rights over all this waste. That, of
course," concluded the policeman, pointing to the glowing fire which
Neale and Betty had seen from the edge of the wood, "that's why chaps
like yonder man come and camp here just as they like--there's nobody to
stop 'em."

"Who is the man?" asked Neale, glancing at the fire, whose flames made a
red spo