bliged to some of
you if you'd send up a woman or two to help me lay him out, for I can't
be expected to do everything by myself, nor to stop in this cottage
alone, neither!"

Leaving the doctor and a couple of policemen to arrange matters with the
housekeeper, the sergeant went outside, followed by the others. He
turned to Cotherstone.

"I'm going down to Harborough's cottage, at the other end of the Shawl,"
he said. "I don't expect to learn aught much there--yet--but I can see
if he's at home, anyway. If any of you gentlemen like to come down----"

Bent laid a hand on Cotherstone's arm and turned him in the direction of
his house.

"Brereton and I'll go with the sergeant," he said. "You must go
home--Lettie'll be anxious about things. Go down with him, Mr.
Garthwaite--you'll both hear more later."

To Brereton's great surprise, Cotherstone made no objection to this
summary dismissal. He and Garthwaite went off in one direction; the
others, led by the observant policeman who had found the empty
pocket-book and recognized the peculiar properties of the cord, turned
away in another.

"Where's this we're going now?" asked Brereton as he and Bent followed
their leaders through the trees and down the slopes of the Shawl.

"To John Harborough's cottage--at the other end of the hill," answered
Bent. "He's the man they spoke of in there. He's a queer character--a
professional pig-killer, who has other trades as well. He does a bit of
rat-catching, and a bit of mole-catching--and a good deal of poaching.
In fact, he's an odd person altogether, not only in character but in
appearance. And the curious thing is that he's got an exceedingly
good-looking and accomplished daughter, a really superior girl who's
been well educated and earns her living as a governess in the town.
Queer pair they make if you ever see them together!"

"Does she live with him?" asked Brereton.

"Oh yes, she lives with him!" replied Bent. "And I believe that they're
very devoted to each other, though everybody marvels that such a man
should have such a daughter. There's a mystery about that man--odd
character that he is, he's been well bred, and the folk hereabouts call
him Gentleman Jack."

"Won't all this give the girl a fright?" suggested Brereton. "Wouldn't
it be better if somebody went quietly to the man's cottage?"

But when they came to Harborough's cottage, at the far end of the Shawl,
it was all in darkness.

"Still, they aren't gon