Undoubtedly he had
stripped off the dead man's clothes, the rough shirt and cord breeches
which had belonged to Lambert, the smith. Undoubtedly, too, he had made
a bundle of these things, hiding them in a dark recess at the bottom of
an old oak cupboard which stood in his room. With these clothes he had
placed the leather wallet which contained securities worth half a
million of solid money.

All this he had done, preparatory to destroying the clothes by fire, and
to converting the securities into money abroad. After that he had thrown
himself on the bed, without thought, without sensations save those of
bodily ache and of numbing fatigue.

Vaguely, as the morning roused him to consciousness, he realized that he
must leave for Dover as soon as may be and cross over to France by the
first packet available, or, better still, by boat specially chartered.
And yet, when anon he rose and dressed, he felt at once that he would
not go just yet; that he could not go until certain queries which had
formed in his brain had been answered by events.

How soon would the watches find the body? Having found it, what would
they do? Would the body be immediately identified by the clothes upon
it? or would doubt on that score arise in the minds of the neighboring
folk? Would the disappearance of Adam Lambert be known at once and
commented upon in connection with the crime?

Curiosity soon became an obsession; he wandered down into the hall where
the serving-wench was plying her duster. He searched her face,
wondering if she had heard the news.

The mist of the night had yielded to an icy drizzle, but Sir Marmaduke
could not remain within. His footsteps guided him in the direction of
Acol, on towards Epple Bay. On the path which leads to the edge of the
cliffs he met the watches who were tramping on towards the beach.

The men saluted him and went on their way, but he turned and fled as
quickly as he dared.

In the afternoon Master Busy brought the news down from Prospect Inn.
The body of the man who had called himself a French prince had been
found murdered and shockingly mutilated on the sands at Epple. Sir
Marmaduke was vastly interested. He, usually so reserved and ill-humored
with his servants, had kept Hymn-of-Praise in close converse for nigh
upon an hour, asking many questions about the crime, about the petty
constables' action in the matter and the comments made by the village
folk.

At the same time he gave strict injun