It wasn't till I had emerged from the shadow that Worthing seriously set himself to question me on the dark business. And then he was a hundredfold more exacting than the officers had been. First he made me go over again and again the ground of the murder and the pursuit, explaining at every turn just what I had seen and done. And strangely enough each time I seemed to remember some point which had escaped my memory before. Though of what use all this exactitude of detail was to be I couldn't guess. But Worthing was relentless, saying that nothing however trifling must be passed over as the clue might lie in the most unexpected place. However, at last he seemed satisfied that nothing more was to be learnt from the process. But he had reconstructed the murder with convincing probability of detail. The murderer must have known of my father's intended visit. Perhaps he had even heard the song which had warned me of the meeting; or perhaps he had merely followed him, waiting for a chance to strike. Worthing favoured the first theory. Then he pointed out the spot where the murderer had remained concealed till my father should arrive. My father for his part had sailed down on the schooner we had seen, having arranged before to be set ashore. He hadn't rowed up the Smuggler's Tunnel as he didn't know whether the passage was still clear to the woods; the rope ladder might no longer be there. So not seeing me he had started to climb the cliffs, intending to make for the _Dolphin_. Then came the puzzling cry for help. I eagerly explained to Worthing the affair of the _Snow Man_, and how my father had rushed back into the burning inn to save me. His enemy must have been on his track even then, and the incident had given him the idea of a ruse which he hadn't yet tried. Well, it had succeeded. He had imitated my voice, and my father had turned, thinking I was below there and in danger. And that was easily explicable, as I might have been exploring in Drift-Wood Cavern. He had turned, unarmed of all suspicion in his sudden belief that I was in peril. And his enemy had caught him off his guard at last, and had killed him. The murderer had fled, and I had followed. But the smack towards which I thought he had been making was still at anchor when Worthing found me. So then he had had some other retreat in mind. Evidently he knew the coast well. Actually where he had hidden didn't much matter for he must have fled the district long before my wits were clear enough to tell anything of the story. But there was one piece of evidence which set Worthing questioning me. Across my right hand were two ragged gashes. How had they come? I laughed at the question for in my blind pursuit of the murderer I had taken so little heed that it was a wonder I wasn't gashed and bruised from head to heel. But Worthing wouldn't leave it at that. I must think where I was most likely to have hurt my hand. And then it came to me. "Why," I said, "it was vaulting the jetty."