distant gloom, the black line of wood loomed up against the stormy
sky. The stars were no longer shining and the rain clouds had gathered.
I stood with my face turned to the dark indistinct spot that held the
secret, lost in wonderment.

At last I closed the window and turned in, but no sleep came to my
eyes, so full was my mind of the startling events of those past few
months and of that gruesome discovery I had made.

Had the fugitive actually recognized me? Probably my voice when I had
called out had betrayed me. Hour after hour I lay puzzling, trying to
arrive at some solution of that intricate problem which now presented
itself. Muriel could tell me what I wished to know. Of that I was
certain. Yet she dared not speak. Some inexpressible terror held her
dumb--she was affianced to the man Martin Woodroffe.

Again I rose, lit the gas, and tried to read a novel. But I could not
concentrate my thoughts, which were ever wandering to that strange
mystery of the wood. At six I shaved, descended, and went out with the
dogs for a short walk; but on returning I heard of nothing unusual, and
was compelled to remain inactive until near mid-day.

I was crossing the stable-yard where I had gone to order the carriage
for my aunt, when an English groom, suddenly emerging from the
harness-room, touched his cap, saying--

"Have you 'eard, sir, of the awful affair up yonder?"

"Of what?" I asked quickly.

"Well, sir, there seems to have been a murder last night up in Rannoch
Wood," said the man quickly. "Holden, the gardener, has just come back
from that village and says that Mr. Leithcourt's under-gamekeeper as he
was going home at five this morning came upon a dead body."

"A dead body!" I exclaimed, feigning great surprise.

"Yes, sir--a youngish man. He'd been stabbed to the heart."

"A man!"

"Yes, sir--so Holden says."

"Call Holden. I'd like to know all he's heard," I said. And presently,
when the gardener emerged from the grape-house, I sought of him all the
particulars he had gathered.

"I don't know very much, sir," was the man's reply. "I went into the inn
for a glass of beer at eleven, as I always do, and heard them talking
about it. A young man was murdered last night up in Rannoch Wood. The
gamekeeper thought at first there'd been a fight among poachers, but
from the dead man's clothes they say he isn't a poacher at all, but a
stranger in this district."

"The body was that of a man, then?" I asked, tr