It was not easy to distinguish the horse and man where they lay in the darkness, and anybody who had not been on the lookout for them might easily have passed them by in the belief that they were nothing more than a heap of sea drift. But Sir Norman was under no such delusion. When he caught sight of them--it was the whiteness of the Colonel's upturned face that first arrested his glance--he approached cautiously, with ears alert to detect whatever whispered groan there might still remain to hear. But there was nothing; the agony had not been prolonged, and it was over. Colonel Banyon and his horse were both quite dead. Sir Norman had certainly anticipated nothing else, and yet the visibility of the fact gave him a start. Colonel Banyon had been so very much alive a few minutes before, and now he was so very lifeless! The handsome, gallant, dashing officer, who had been so overflowing with hopes and projects, and love and laughter, was now suddenly become inert and devoid alike of thought and passion, good or evil. It was so impressive that it affected Sir Norman almost like something theatrical. The Colonel appeared to him for a moment to be acting a part. When the curtain came down, he would get up, like Mr. Betterton in 'Hamlet,' and come out and make his bow before the audience. But unfortunately there is no curtain in these cases, and the poor actor, having died with what realism he can command, is obliged to remain dead indefinitely. The surf, now breaking near at hand, reminded Sir Norman that he also had a part to enact. Not that he had been altogether idle since leaving Kildhurm Towers; but he had accomplished only the preliminary portion of the work which he had resolved to perform. In looking forward to this night's occupations, he might have been led to suppose that the murder would be more difficult to an unpractised hand than the robbery; but experience proved that the truth was just the other way. To hurl his victim over the cliff had been an excitement--fierce, and, in a certain sense, pleasurable. But this despoiling the corpse in cold blood afterwards was neither pleasant nor exciting; and yet it had to be done, else all the benefit of the murder would be thrown away. To kill, moreover, was aristocratic; Sir Norman's ancestors had won renown by doing no more than he had just done; but to pick a pocket was plebeian, and none of his ancestors, so far as he was aware, had ever been guilty of that. But again, there was no escape from it--or only one escape! Sir Norman might, if he chose, return to his horse, mount him, ride him up the cliff, and leap him over the verge to a resting-place here beside the Colonel. By this means, and by this only, could he avoid the logical necessity of pocket-picking, and at the same time conceal, and perhaps in some measure expiate, the crime already committed. Sir Norman thought of all this, and weighed the question for a moment in his mind. Should he go on, or should he turn