her "B.K." or "B.L." On the third
finger of the right hand was a silver ring in the shape of a coiled
cobra, much worn and tarnished. Gunga Dass deposited a handful of
trifles he had picked out of the burrow at my feet, and, covering the
face of the body with my handkerchief, I turned to examine these. I give
the full list in the hope that it may lead to the identification of the
unfortunate man:

1. Bowl of a briarwood pipe, serrated at the edge; much worn and
blackened; bound with string at the crew.

2. Two patent-lever keys; wards of both broken.

3. Tortoise-shell-handled penknife, silver or nickel, name-plate, marked
with monogram "B.K."

4. Envelope, postmark undecipherable, bearing a Victorian stamp,
addressed to "Miss Mon--" (rest illegible)--"ham"--"nt."

5. Imitation crocodile-skin notebook with pencil. First forty-five pages
blank; four and a half illegible; fifteen others filled with private
memoranda relating chiefly to three persons--a Mrs.L. Singleton,
abbreviated several times to "Lot Single," "Mrs. S. May," and
"Garmison," referred to in places as "Jerry" or "Jack."

6. Handle of small-sized hunting-knife. Blade snapped short. Buck's
horn, diamond cut, with swivel and ring on the butt; fragment of cotton
cord attached.

It must not be supposed that I inventoried all these things on the spot
as fully as I have here written them down. The notebook first attracted
my attention, and I put it in my pocket with a view of studying it later
on.

The rest of the articles I conveyed to my burrow for safety's sake, and
there being a methodical man, I inventoried them. I then returned to
the corpse and ordered Gunga Dass to help me to carry it out to the
river-front. While we were engaged in this, the exploded shell of an old
brown cartridge dropped out of one of the pockets and rolled at my feet.
Gunga Dass had not seen it; and I fell to thinking that a man does not
carry exploded cartridge-cases, especially "browns," which will not
bear loading twice, about with him when shooting. In other words, that
cartridge-case had been fired inside the crater. Consequently there must
be a gun somewhere. I was on the verge of asking Gunga Dass, but checked
myself, knowing that he would lie. We laid the body down on the edge of
the quicksand by the tussocks. It was my intention to push it out and
let it be swallowed up-the only possible mode of burial that I could
think of. I ordered Gunga Dass to go away.

Then