n inner pocket. Empty, do you say?--no papers?"

"Not a scrap of anything," answered the policeman, handing the book over
to his sergeant, and proceeding to search further. "We'd best to see if
there's any footprints about."

"You'd better examine that path, then," said Garthwaite. "You'll find no
prints on all this pine-needle stuff--naught to go by, anyway--it's too
thick and soft. But he must have come along that path, one way or
another--I've met him walking in here of an evening, more than once."

The doctor, who had exchanged a word or two with the sergeant, turned to
Cotherstone.

"Wasn't he a tenant of yours?" he asked. "Had the cottage at the top of
the Shawl here. Well, we'd better have the body removed there, and some
one should go up and warn his family."

"There's no family," answered Cotherstone. "He'd naught but a
housekeeper--Miss Pett. She's an elderly woman--and not likely to be
startled, from what I've seen of her."

"I'll go," said Bent. "I know the housekeeper." He touched Brereton's
elbow, and led him away amongst the trees and up the wood. "This is a
strange affair!" he continued when they were clear of the others. "Did
you hear what Dr. Rockcliffe said?--that whoever had done it was
familiar with that sort of thing!"

"I saw for myself," replied Brereton. "I noticed that cord, and the knot
on it, at once. A man whose neck was tied up like that could be thrown
down, thrown anywhere, left to stand up, if you like, and he'd be
literally helpless, even if, as the doctor said, he had the use of his
hands. He'd be unconscious almost at once--dead very soon afterwards.
Murder?--I should think so!--and a particularly brutal and determined
one. Bent!--whoever killed that poor old fellow was a man of great
strength and of--knowledge! Knowledge, mind you!--he knew the trick. You
haven't any doubtful character in Highmarket who has ever lived in
India, have you?"

"India! Why India?" asked Bent.

"Because I should say that the man who did that job has learned some of
the Indian tricks with cords and knots," answered Brereton. "That
murder's suggestive of Thuggeeism in some respects. That the cottage?"
he went on, pointing to a dim light ahead of him. "This housekeeper,
now?--is she the sort who'll take it quietly?"

"She's as queer a character as the old fellow himself was," replied
Bent, as they cleared the wood and entered a hedge-enclosed garden at
the end of which stood an old-fashioned cotta