k he hasn't much to do
with it; but, as it happens, he comes from Falmouth too, and knows
the deceased."

Miss Belcher hitched an old riding-skirt off a peg and indued it over
her red flannel petticoat, fastening it about her waist with a
leathern strap and buckle.

"Well, the first thing is to fetch the body along, and then I'll go
down with you and have a look."

"I've halted the men about a hundred yards down the hill. I thought
perhaps you'd step straight along with me to the house, so as to be
out of the way when they--But, anyhow, if you insist on coming, we
can fetch across the cricket-field and down to the left, so that you
needn't meet it."

"Bless the man!"--Miss Belcher had turned to another peg, taken down
a loose weather-stained gardening-jacket, and was slipping an arm
into the sleeve--"you don't suppose, do you, that I'm the sort of
person to be scared by a dead body? Open the door, please, and lead
the way. This is a serious business, Jack, and I doubt if you have
the head for it."

Sure enough, the sight of the dead body on the hurdle shook Miss
Belcher's nerve not at all, or, at any rate, not discernibly.

"Humph!" she said. "Take him to the pavilion and cover him decently.
You'll find a yard or two of clean awning in the left-hand corner of
the scoring-box." She eyed Mr. Goodfellow for a couple of seconds
and swung round upon Mr. Rogers. "Is that the man you've arrested?"

Mr. Rogers nodded.

"Fiddlestick-end!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Fiddlestick-end! Look at the man's face. And you call yourself a
justice of the peace?"

"It was thrust upon me," said Mr. Rogers, modestly. "I don't say
he's guilty, mind you; and, of course, if you say he isn't--"

"Look at his face!" repeated Miss Belcher; and, turning, addressed
Mr. Goodfellow. "My good man, you hadn't any hand in this--eh?"

"No, ma'am; in course I hadn't," Mr. Goodfellow answered fervently.

"There! You hear what he says?"

"Lydia, Lydia! I've the highest possible respect for your judgment;
but isn't this what you might cull a trifle--er--summary?"

"It saves time," said Miss Belcher. "And if you're going to catch
the real culprit, time is precious. Now take me to see the spot."

But at this point Mr. Goodfellow's emotions overmastered him, and he
broke forth into the language of rhapsody.

"O woman, woman!" exclaimed Mr. Goodfellow, "whatever would the world
do without your wondrous instink!"

"Bless the man