them. And beyond that stretched the wide expanse of sea, with here and
there a red-sailed fishing boat tossing restlessly on the white-capped
waves, and over that and the land was a chill silence, broken only by the
occasional cry of the sea-birds and the bleating of the mountain sheep.

"A lone spot indeed!" said Gilling in a whisper. "Spurge, where is that
stuff hidden?"

"Other side of the tower--in an angle of the old courtyard," replied
Spurge, "Can't see the spot from here."

"And where's that road you told us about?" asked Copplestone. "The
moor road?"

"Top o' the bank yonder--beyond the tower," said Spurge. "Runs round
yonder corner o' this wood and goes right round it to High Nick, where
we've cut across from. Hush now, all of you, gentlemen--I'm going to
signal Jim."

Screwing up his mobile face into a strange contortion, Spurge emitted
from his puckered lips a queer cry--a cry as of some trapped animal--so
shrill and realistic that his hearers started.

"What on earth's that represent?" asked Gilling. "It's blood-curdling?"

"Hare, with a stoat's teeth in its neck," answered Spurge. "H'sh--I'll
call him again."

No answer came to the first nor to the second summons--after a third,
equally unproductive, Spurge looked at his companions with a scared face.

"That's a queer thing, guv'nors!" he muttered. "Can't believe as how our
Jim 'ud ever desert a post. He promised me faithfully as how he'd stick
here like grim death until I came back. I hope he ain't had a fit, nor
aught o' that sort--he ain't a strong chap at the best o' times, and--"

"You'd better take a careful look round, Spurge," said Vickers.
"Here--shall I come with you?"

But Spurge waved a hand to them to stay where they were. He himself crept
along the back of the hedge until he came to a point opposite the nearest
angle of the tower. And suddenly he gave a great cry--human enough this
time!--and the three young men rushing forward found him standing by the
body of a roughly-clad man in whom Copplestone recognized the one-eyed
odd-job man of the "Admiral's Arms."

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE FOOTPRINTS

The man was lying face downwards in the grass and weeds which clustered
thickly at the foot of the hedgerow, and on the line of rough,
weatherbeaten neck which showed between his fur cap and his turned-up
collar there was a patch of dried blood. Very still and apparently
lifeless he looked, but Vickers suddenly bent down, laid st