frankness and a certain steadiness of gaze set him up as an honest
fellow. His clothing was rough; there were bits of straw, hay, wood
about it, as if he were well acquainted with farming life; in his
right hand he carried a stout ash-plant stick.

"You are right, my friend," answered the inspector. "It is! What are
you wanting?"

The man looked up the steps at his informant with a glance in which
there was a decided sense of humour. Something in the situation seemed
to amuse him.

"You'll not know me," he replied. "My name's Beeman--James Beeman. I
come fro' near York. I'm t' chap 'at were mentioned by one o' t'
witnesses at t' inquest on that strange man 'at were murdered
hereabouts. I should ha' called to see you about t' matter before now,
but I've nobbut just come back into this part o' t' country; I been
away up i' t' Cheviot Hills there."

"Oh?" said the inspector. "And--what mention was made of you?"

James Beeman showed a fine set of teeth in a grin that seemed to
stretch completely across his homely face.

"I'm t' chap 'at were spoken of as asking about t' graves o' t'
Netherfield family," he answered. "You know--on t' roadside one night,
off a fellow 'at I chanced to meet wi' outside Lesbury. That's who I
am!"

The inspector turned to Miss Raven and myself with a look which meant
more than he could express in words.

"Talk about coincidence!" he whispered. "This is the very man we'd
just mentioned. Come back to my office and hear what he's got to tell.
Follow me," he continued, beckoning the caller. "I'm much obliged to
you for coming. Now," he continued, when all four of us were within
his room. "What can you tell me about that? What do you know about the
grave of the Netherfields?"

Beeman laughed, shaking his round head. Now that his old hat was
removed, the fiery hue of his poll was almost alarming in its
crudeness of hue.

"Nowt," he said. "Nowt at all! I'll tell you all about it--that's what
I've comed here for, hearing as you were wondering who I was and what
had come o' me. I come up here--yes, it were on t' sixth o' March--to
see about some sheep stock for our maister, Mr. Dimbleby, and I put up
for t' first night at a temp'rance i' Alnwick yonder. But of course,
temp'rances is all right for sleeping and braikfasting, but nowt for
owt else, so when I'd tea'd there, I went down t' street for a
comfortable public, where I could smoke my pipe and have a glass or
two. And while I was there,