u, and seek to do you an injury."

"I am not afraid of that," returned Colwyn. "I laid the trap for him,
and it is my duty to go down and bring him up."

Colwyn left the chief constable and returned to the pit. The next moment
he and the seaman commenced the descent. They carried electric torches,
and took with them a blanket and a third rope. They were carefully
lowered until the torches they carried twinkled more faintly, and
finally vanished in the gloom. A little while afterwards the strain on
the ropes slackened. The rescuers had reached the bottom of the pit. A
period of waiting ensued for those on top, until a jerk of the ropes
indicated the signal for drawing up again. The men on the surface pulled
steadily. Soon the torches were once more visible down the pit, and then
the lanterns on the surface revealed Colwyn and the fisherman,
supporting between them a limp bundle wrapped in the blanket, and tied
to the third rope. As they reached the air they were helped out, and the
burden they carried was laid on the ground near the mouth of the pit.
The blanket fell away, exposing the face of Charles, waxen and still in
the rays of the light which fell upon it.

"Dead?" whispered Mr. Cromering.

"Dying," returned Colwyn. "His back is broken."

The dying man unclosed his eyelids, and his dark eyes, keen and
brilliant as ever, roved restlessly over the group who were standing
around him. They rested on Colwyn, and he lifted a feeble hand and
beckoned to him. The detective knelt beside him, and rested his head on
his arm. The white lips formed one word:

"Closer."

Colwyn bent his head nearer, and those standing by could see the dying
man whispering into the detective's ear. He spoke with an effort for
some minutes, and hurriedly, like one who knew that his time was short.
Then he stopped suddenly, and his head fell back grotesquely, like a
broken doll's. Colwyn felt his heart, and rose to his feet.

"He is dead," he said.

CHAPTER XXIX

"There are several things that I do not understand," said Superintendent
Galloway to Colwyn a little later. "How were you able to decide so
quickly that Benson had told the truth when he declared that he had not
committed the murder, after he had made the damning admission that he
had removed the body?"

"Partly because it was extremely unlikely that Benson could have
invented a story which fitted so nicely with the facts. The slightest
mistake in his times would have p