He came up to me, and, bad as I felt myself, I was almost shocked by the sight of his face. It was like a horrible grey mask, twisted and distorted with passion. "Who d'yer think?" he demanded hoarsely. "There's only one devil in the world who'd go fur to do a thing like that." He sank down on his knees beside the body, and, sliding his hand under the big head, lifted it tenderly from the grass. "You mean Manning?" The words came out mechanically. I knew the answer before I uttered them. "Aye!" he muttered savagely; "that's who I mean. It was Mannin' right enough--the blarsted, poisonin' 'ound." Very slowly he laid down his burden and got up again on to his feet. "I'll be even with 'im for this," he added in a choking voice. "You mark my words. I'll be even with 'im for this or my name ain't John Bascomb." "When did it happen?" I asked. He stared at me, as if only half understanding the question. "When did it 'appen?" he repeated. "Why, las' night 'about eleven o'clock. 'E were alive an' well at the 'alf hour--that I can swear to. I was in the kitchen, an' I seen 'im pass the window--seen 'im with me own eyes. I can't say exac'ly 'ow long arter it was when I went to the back door; mebbe a matter o' five an' twenty minutes. Any'ow, there 'e was, stretched out on the path, too bad even to make a sound. Crawled back 'ome to die, 'e 'ad, pore beggar, an' me inside not knowin' nothin' about it." His voice trembled, and, raising the back of his hand, he brushed it roughly across his eyes. I wetted my lips, which were dry as leather. "If Manning did this--" I began. Bascomb turned on me with glowing eyes. "You'll leave 'im to me," he said. "This is my job, this is; an' no one ain't comin' in between us--not till I've finished with 'im." I saw that the man was half off his head with rage, and I felt that for the present the best thing was to leave him to himself. In the mood we were both in any further discussion would probably only end in an explosion. "We must bury the body at all events," I said shortly. "If you want any help in digging the grave you will find me in the house." I walked towards the back door, my mind still in a turmoil of emotion, and, crossing the kitchen, made my way through into the hall. The place was dark and cheerless, and in a mechanical fashion I struck a match and set a light to the fire. Then, pulling up an easy chair, I flung myself down, and stared at the crackling sticks.