, the inevitable means appeared. A week before Robert
Redmayne died, every stage of the journey had been planned.

What was the first step? An entreaty from Jenny that I should shave
my beard! She begged again and again and appealed to Robert, who
supported her. I withstood them until the day of his destruction.
Upon that morning I appeared without it and they congratulated me.
Other trifling preliminaries there were. On one occasion, when my
wife rode down to Plymouth with her uncle on his motor bicycle, she
left him to do some shopping and, visiting Burnell's the theatrical
costumer, she purchased a red wig for a woman. At home again she
transferred it into a red wig for a man. Meantime I had made a pair
of large mustaches, helping myself when Mrs. Gerry, our landlady,
was out of the way to hair from the brush of one of her stuffed
foxes, whose colour exactly resembled the rufous adornments of
Robert Redmayne. That was all I wanted. The rest of my disguise
would go to the quarry on the person of Robert himself.

But other things went to the quarry also, for I had to look far
ahead. When we started on his motor cycle, after tea, to do some
work at the bungalow, I took a handbag containing my costume as
Giuseppe Doria--a plain, blue serge suit, coat, waistcoat and
trousers and yachtsman's cap. I also carried a tool--the little
instrument with which I murdered the three Redmaynes. It resembled
the head of a butcher's pole-axe, of great weight with the working
end sharpened. I made it in a forge at Southampton and it lies
to-day under the waters of Como. My bag I had taken on previous
occasions to the quarry, with a bottle of whisky and glasses, so
Robert thought it not strange that I should do so again.

We started for Foggintor and it was still broad daylight when we got
there. I had already studied the quarry and determined on Robert
Redmayne's resting-place. You will find him--and the suit of clothes
I was wearing that evening--in the moraine, where it opens fanwise
from the cliff above and spreads into the bottom beneath. On the
right, at its base, water eternally drips from the ledges of the
granite and here, two feet beneath the surface, he doubtless still
lies. The falling water smooths the slope and the earth descends
daily to increase the volume of granite sand and gravel above him.
The drip must swiftly have washed away any trace of my handiwork
and, even with these directions, it may be hard to find him.