The doctor had gone forward as soon as he caught sight of the body, and
he dropped on his knees at its side while the others gathered round. In
the added light everybody now saw things more clearly. Kitely lay in a
heap--just as a man would lie who had been unceremoniously thrown down.
But Brereton's sharp eyes saw at once that after he had been flung at
the foot of the mass of rock some hand had disarranged his clothing. His
overcoat and under coat had been torn open, hastily, if not with
absolute violence; the lining of one trousers pocket was pulled out;
there were evidences that his waistcoat had been unbuttoned and its
inside searched: everything seemed to indicate that the murderer had
also been a robber.

"He's not been dead very long," said the doctor, looking up. "Certainly
not more than three-quarters of an hour. Strangled? Yes!--and by
somebody who has more than ordinary knowledge of how quickly a man may
be killed in that way! Look how this cord is tied--no amateur did that."

He turned back the neckcloth from the dead man's throat, and showed the
others how the cord had been slipped round the neck in a running-knot
and fastened tightly with a cunning twist.

"Whoever did this had done the same thing before--probably more than
once," he continued. "No man with that cord round his neck, tightly
knotted like that, would have a chance--however free his hands might be.
He'd be dead before he could struggle. Does no one know anything about
this? No more than that?" he went on, when he had heard what Garthwaite
could tell. "Well, this is murder, anyway! Are there no signs of
anything about here?"

"Don't you think his clothing looks as if he had been robbed?" said
Brereton, pointing to the obvious signs. "That should be noted before
he's moved."

"I've noted that, sir," said the police-sergeant, who had bent over the
body while the doctor was examining it. "There's one of his pockets
turned inside out, and all his clothing's been torn open. Robbery, of
course--that's what it's been--murder for the sake of robbery!"

One of the policemen, having satisfied his curiosity stepped back and
began to search the surroundings with the aid of his lamp. He suddenly
uttered a sharp exclamation.

"Here's something!" he said, stooping to the foot of a pine-tree and
picking up a dark object. "An old pocket-book--nothing in it, though."

"That was his," remarked Cotherstone. "I've seen it before. He used to
carry it in a