e of the excavation, treading on a broad strip of turf,
purposely freed of encroaching briers lest any wandering stranger
might plunge headlong into the pit. Near the highest part of the rock
wall there was a slight depression in the ground; and here, except
during the height of a phenomenally dry Summer, the surface was always
moist.

Bates, who was leading, had halted suddenly. He pointed to three well
marked footprints.

"Who's been here, an' not so long ago, neither?" he said, darting
ferret eyes now at the telltale marks and now into the quarry beneath
or through the solemn aisle of trees.

"Stick in some twigs, an' let's hurry on," said Farrow. "Footprints
are first rate, but they'll keep for an hour or two."

Thirty yards away, and somewhat to the right, a hump of rock formed
the Mont Blanc of that tiny Alp. From its summit, and from no other
part of the wood, they could see the east front of The Towers. In
fact, while perched there, having climbed its shoulder with great
care lest certain definite tokens of a recent intruder should be
obliterated, they discovered a dusty motor car ranged between the
doctor's runabout and the Fenley limousine, which had returned.

The doctor and Miss Sylvia Manning were standing on the broad mosaic
which adorned the landing above the steps, standing exactly where
Mortimer Fenley had stood when he was stricken to death. With them
were two strangers: one tall, burly and official-looking; the other a
shrunken little man, whose straw hat, short jacket, and clean-shaven
face conveyed, at the distance, a curiously juvenile aspect.

Halfway down the steps were Hilton Fenley and Brodie, and all were
gazing fixedly at that part of the wood where the keeper and the
policeman had popped into view.

"Hello!" said Bates. "Who is that little lot?"

Clearly, he meant the big man and his diminutive companion. Farrow
coughed importantly.

"That's Scotland Yard," he said.

"Who?"

"Detectives from the Yard. Mr. Hilton telephoned for 'em. An' wot's
more, they're signalin' to us."

"They want us to go back," said Bates.

"Mebbe."

"There can't be any doubt about it." And, indeed, only a blind man
could have been skeptical as to the wishes of the group near the door.

"I'm goin' through this wood first," announced Farrow firmly. "Mind
how you get down. Them marks may be useful. I'm almost sure the
scoundrel fired from this very spot."

"Looks like it," agreed Bates, and they des