"He grew sullen when I jeered at him. He led me to a little hollow in the ground, and I noticed the prints of several feet in the wet mud. Then I saw something which sent the cold blood to my heart. A woman bathed in blood lay before me. Somehow she was familiar to me. I looked again--then again. Yes, there was the dark shawl, the basket--broken, it was true, with the contents scattered; but it was the same basket. It was the woman I had seen coming down the road. "'My God, whatever is this!' The man by my side spoke. He swayed backwards and forwards on his feet, his face white and awful in the moonlight. He was sick with terror. 'Oh God, it is horrible--horrible!' Then, with a sudden earnestness and a crafty look in his eyes, he bent over her. "'Who is it?' he cried. 'Who is the poor wretch?' "I saw him peer into her face, but he didn't touch her--he dreaded the blood. Then he started back, his eyes filled with such savageness as I had never seen in any man's before. He looked a devil--he was a devil. 'It's my wife!' he shrieked. 'My wife!' His voice fell and turned into what sounded like a sob. 'It's Mary. She was coming back to Helvore. It was her cry. There--see it--confound you! You have it on your arm--your coat--all over you.' "He raised his hand to strike me. The moonlight fell on it--a great coarse hand--and I noticed, with a thrill of horror, a red splash on it. It was blood. The man was a murderer. He had killed his wife, and, with all the cunning of the madman, was trying to throw the guilt on me. "I sprang at him with a cry of despair. He kicked and bit, and tried to tear my arms from his neck; but somehow I seemed to have ten times my usual strength. "And all the time we struggled a sea of faces waved to and fro, peering down at us from the gaunt trees above. "He gave in at length. I was no longer obliged to hold him with an iron grip, and help came eventually in the shape of a policeman, who seemed to grasp the situation quite easily. There had been a murder; the man I had secured was known to him. He was a labouring man of unsteady habits; he had been drinking, had met and quarrelled with his wife. The rest was to be seen in the ghastly heap before us. "The wretch had no defence. He seemed dazed, and eyed the bloodstains on his face and clothes in a stupid kind of way. "I slipped five shillings into the policeman's hand when we parted. He thanked me and pocketed the money; he knew his position and mine too; I was a gentleman, and a very plucky one at that. So I thought as I walked back to my rooms; yet I lay awake and shuddered as visions of the nodding heads of pines passed before me; and from without, across the silent lanes and fields, there rose and fell again the wailing of a woman--a woman in distress. * * * * *