ing and munching, and holding forth,
in didactic fashion, on crime and detection. Miss Raven gave me a
glance as I slipped into a place at her side.

"You found this poor man?" she whispered. "How dreadful for you!"

"For him, too--and far more so," I said. "I didn't want you to know
until--later. Mr. Cazalette oughtn't to have told you."

She arched her eyebrows in the direction of the odd, still orating
figure.

"Oh!" she murmured. "He's no reverence for anything--life or death. I
believe he's positively enjoying this: he's been talking like that
ever since he came in and told me of it."

Mr. Raven and I made a very hurried breakfast and prepared to join
Tarver. The news of the murder had spread through the household; we
found two or three of the men-servants ready to accompany us. And Mr.
Cazalette was ready, too, and, I thought, more eager than any of the
rest. Indeed, when we set out from the house he led the way, across
the gardens and pleasure-grounds, along the yew-hedge (at which he
never so much as gave a glance) and through the belt of pine wood. At
its further extremity he glanced at Mr. Raven.

"From what Middlebrook says, this man must be lying in Kernwick Cove,"
he said. "Now, there's a footpath across the headlands and the field
above from Long Houghton village to that spot. Quick must have
followed it last night. But how came he to meet his murderer--or did
his murderer follow him? And what was Quick doing down here? Was he
directed here--or led here?"

Mr. Raven seemed to think these questions impossible of immediate
answer: his one anxiety at that moment appeared to be to set the
machinery of justice in motion. He was manifestly relieved when, as we
came to the open country behind the pines and firs, where a narrow
lane ran down to the sea, we heard the rattle of a light dog-cart and
turned to see the inspector of police and a couple of his men, who had
evidently hurried off at once on receiving the telephone message. With
them, seated by the inspector on the front seat of the trap, was a
professional-looking man who proved to be the police-surgeon.

We all trooped down to the beach, where Tarver was keeping his
unpleasant vigil. He had been taking a look round the immediate scene
of the murder, he said, during my absence, thinking that he might find
something in the way of a clue. But he had found nothing: there were
no signs of any struggle anywhere near. It seemed clear that two men
had c