-and that he had died in his sleep. Everything there pointed
unmistakably to what had happened. The man had eaten his frugal dinner,
washed it down from his tin bottle, lighted his pipe, leaned back in the
warm sunlight, dropped asleep--and died as quietly as a child taken from
its play to its slumbers.

After one more careful look, Bryce turned and made through the trees
to the path which crossed the old graveyard. And there, going leisurely
home to lunch, was Dick Bewery, who glanced at the young doctor
inquisitively.

"Hullo!" he exclaimed with the freedom of youth towards something not
much older. "You there? Anything on?"

Then he looked more clearly, seeing Bryce to be pale and excited. Bryce
laid a hand on the lad's arm.

"Look here!" he said. "There's something wrong--again!--in here. Run
down to the police-station--get hold of Mitchington--quietly, you
understand!--bring him here at once. If he's not there, bring somebody
else--any of the police. But--say nothing to anybody but them."

Dick gave him another swift look, turned, and ran. And Bryce went back
to the dead man--and picked up the tin bottle, and making a cup of his
left hand poured out a trickle of the contents. Cold tea!--and, as far
as he could judge, nothing else. He put the tip of his little finger
into the weak-looking stuff, and tasted--it tasted of nothing but a
super-abundance of sugar.

He stood there, watching the dead man until the sound of footsteps
behind him gave warning of the return of Dick Bewery, who, in another
minute, hurried through the bushes, followed by Mitchington. The boy
stared in silence at the still figure, but the inspector, after a hasty
glance, turned a horrified face on Bryce.

"Good Lord!" he gasped. "It's Collishaw!"

Bryce for the moment failed to comprehend this, and Mitchington shook
his head.

"Collishaw!" he repeated. "Collishaw, you know! The man I told you about
yesterday afternoon. The man that said--"

Mitchington suddenly checked himself, with a glance at Dick Bewery.

"I remember--now," said Bryce. "The mason's labourer! So--this is the
man, eh? Well, Mitchington, he's dead!--I found him dead, just now. I
should say he'd been dead five to ten minutes--not more. You'd better
get help--and I'd like another medical man to see him before he's
removed."

Mitchington looked again at Dick.

"Perhaps you'd fetch Dr. Ransford, Mr--Richard?" he asked. "He's
nearest."

"Dr. Ransford's not at home,"