retraced his steps.

West, now thoroughly puzzled, and already convinced that some mystery
hovered over the place, began to circle through the untrampled clover,
but without any defined purpose. All at once, at the lower end of the
gully he came, unexpectedly, upon another trail, this one well marked,
apparently frequently used, which led straight across the field, and
terminated at a small gate leading through the wire fence. Evidently
here was a short cut to the road, well known to the servants on the
estate, and possibly others. The discovery, however, told nothing
further than this, and contenting himself with another glance about the
unchanged field of rustling clover, West proceeded along the course of
the path, intending to thus rejoin the automobile, waiting his return
behind the trees.

Within a few steps of the gate, which was closed, he came to a sudden,
horrified pause, staring ahead at a strange something huddled in the
path. It was a shapeless thing, bearing no resemblance to a human being,
until he advanced closer; then he recognized the form of a man, curled up
as a dog sleeps, face down hidden by his arm, and limbs drawn up, as if
in a sudden spasm of agony. A hat was in the path beyond, where it had
fallen, and a revolver lay glittering in the sunlight a few feet away.
There was nothing familiar about either figure or clothing, yet
unquestionably there lay the body of a suicide. The single shot they had
heard, the tell-tale revolver close to the dead man's hand, were clear
evidence of what had occurred.

The unexpectedness of this discovery, the peculiar position of the dead
man, the loneliness of that deserted field in which he lay, shocked West
and, for a moment left him strangely hesitant. Who was the man? What
could have led up to the pitiful tragedy? Yet he advanced step by step
nearer to the hideous object in the path. The man had been shot directly
behind the right ear, killed instantly, no doubt, as the deadly bullet
crashed through the brain. West lifted the arm which concealed the face,
already shrinking from the suspicion, which had begun to assail him. Then
he knew who the dead man was--Percival Coolidge.

CHAPTER XI

SUSPICION VERIFIED

Affairs progressed far too rapidly for some hours for West to reflect
seriously over this experience. He could only act swiftly, answer
questions, and do all in his power to assist others. The real meaning of
the tragedy he made no effort to