a pretext. It
seems that during the last few days has come to light that the man whose
body I found on the sands was not washed in from the sea, but was a
stranger, who had arrived in Braster the previous evening, and had made
inquiries as to where I lived. It seems to be the desire of the police,
therefore, to connect me in some way with the affair."

The Duke looked at me searchingly.

"I presume," he said, "that they had something in the nature of
evidence, or they would scarcely have been able to swear the affidavit
for the search warrant."

"They have nothing more direct, sir, than that the body was found close
to my cottage, that he had presumably left Braster to see me, and that I
was foolish enough to persuade the person, of whom the dead man made
these inquiries in Braster, not to come forward at the inquest."

"Stop! Stop!" the Duke said irritably. "You did what?"

"The young woman of whom he inquired was close at hand when I discovered
the body of the man," I said. "She told me about him. I was a little
upset, and I suggested that there was no necessity for her to disclose
the fact of having seen him."

"It was a remarkably foolish thing of you to do," the Duke said.

"I am realizing it now, sir," I answered.

"Did this person call on you at all?" the Duke asked.

"No, sir. You may remember that it was the night of Colonel Ray's
lecture. He called to see me on his way back and found me ill. I
believe that this person looked in at the window and went away. I saw
no more of him alive after this."

"You have some idea, I presume, as to his identity?"

"I have no definite information, your Grace," I answered.

The Duke did not look at me for several moments.

"I am afraid," he said, stiffly, "that you may experience some
inconvenience from this most ill-advised attempt of yours to suppress
evidence which should most certainly have been given at the inquest.
However, I have no doubt that your story is true. I have some inquiries
now before me from the police station. I will do what I can for you.
Good-evening, Ducaine."

"Good-evening, sir," I answered. "I am much obliged to you."

I walked homewards across the park. The carriage had gone from the
private road, and Ray was alone when I entered. It was impossible to
tell what had happened from his expression. He sat stretched out in my
easy chair, smoking furiously, and his face was impassive. Grooton
served us with dinner, and he ate and drank wi