e coffin of the old 'un, well-nigh
moulderin' away, and the plate says he was one o' the old Mayors o'
Bath."

I turned again to the exhumed body, and the recognition of it came to
me in a flash.

_It was the dark German who had helped to strap me in the chair in
Cruft's Folly, when Saumarez was going to torture me_.

CHAPTER XIX

THE STRUGGLE IN THE TUNNEL

I was delayed two days in Bath by the inquest on the body of the
German, the discovery of which in the old graveyard formed a nine days'
wonder in the old western city and then died out altogether.

It was a very barren inquiry, for it discovered nothing. The man was a
stranger, no evidence was produced to show who he was, and as an
unknown stranger he was buried again, not in the old graveyard, but in
the new cemetery away among the hills.

There was only one piece of evidence which carried any interest with
it, and that was the testimony of the doctor.

He stated that the man had been shot through the head and immediately
killed; he produced the .450 revolver bullet which he had found in the
head.

Furthermore, he added that the body had been buried at once, and by
that means preserved from decay. It was practically incorrupt. It
might have been buried there a month.

That was all, and all the coroner's acumen, and all the researches of
the police, could produce no more. Public opinion had to be satisfied
with a very vague verdict.

There was only one point of interest left for me in the matter, and
that was the bundle of bed-linen which was found buried in the grave.

That was proved beyond doubt to be the bed-linen of my old lady of
Monmouth Street; it was plainly marked with the letter C, surmounted on
the case of the pillow by a small coronet.

"Things is coming round in a most extraordinary way to corroborate your
statement about the old lady, Mr. Anstruther," remarked Inspector Bull
patronisingly. "I could 'ardly believe it. I don't know when I come
across another case like it."

I don't suppose he did. It was an enigma which puzzled many wiser
heads than his in the long run; but I think the part which astonished
him most was to be discovering, bit by bit, that the story of my visit
to the house in Monmouth Street, as related to him and his brother, the
"tip-top London detective," was actually founded at any rate on _some_
fact!

The Don and I joyfully directed our respective servants to pack up for
London at the conclusion