ers. There's a party of the older men that
come here who're dead certain that Quick was murdered by a woman!"

"A woman!" I exclaimed. "Whatever makes them think that?"

"Those footmarks," answered Claigue. "You'll remember, Mr.
Middlebrook, that there were two sets of prints in the sand
thereabouts. One was certainly Quick's--they fitted his boots. The
other was very light--delicate, you might call 'em--made, without
doubt, by some light-footed person. Well, some of the folk hereabouts
went along to Kernwick Cove the day of the murder, and looked at those
prints. They say the lighter ones were made by a woman."

I let my recollections go back to the morning on which I had found
Quick lying dead on the patch of yellow sand.

"Of course," I said, reflectively, "those marks are gone, now."

"Gone? Aye!" exclaimed Claigue. "Long since. There's been a good many
tides washed over that spot since this, Mr. Middlebrook. But they
haven't washed out the fact that a man's life was let out there! And
whether it was man or woman that stuck that knife into the poor
fellow's shoulders, it'll come out, some day."

"I'm not so sure of that," said I. "There's a goodly percentage of
unsolved mysteries of that kind."

"Well, I believe in the old saying," he declared. "Murder will out!
What I don't like is the notion that the murderer may be walking about
this quarter, free, unsuspected. Why, I may ha' served him with a
glass of beer! What's to prevent it? Murderers don't carry a label on
their foreheads!"

"What do you think the police ought to do--or ought to have done?" I
asked.

"I think they should ha' started working backward," he replied, with
decision. "I read all I could lay hands on in the newspapers, and I
came to the conclusion that there was a secret behind those two men.
Come! two brothers murdered on the same night--hundreds of miles
apart! That's no common crime, Mr Middlebrook. Who were these two
men--Noah and Salter Quick? What was their past history? That's what
the police ought to ha' busied themselves with. If they lost or
couldn't pick up the scent here, they should ha' tried far back. Go
backward they should--if they want to go forward."

That was the second time I had heard that advice, and I returned to
Ravensdene Court reflecting on it. Certainly it was sensible. Who,
after all, were Noah and Salter Quick--what was their life-story. I
was wondering how that could be brought to light, when, having dress