“He was a bit doubtful there,” Armadale explained. “I pressed him on the point, and he finally said he thought he heard two. But he wasn't certain. He seems to have been mooning along, not paying attention to anything, when he heard something. It wasn't for some seconds that he identified the sound for what it was; and by that time he was quite muddled up as to what he had really heard. He doesn't seem very bright,” the inspector added contemptuously. “Well, what happened after the Wild West broke loose on the beach?” Sir Clinton demanded, hunting for his shoes. “It appears,” pursued Armadale, “that he ran along the beach close to the water's edge. His story is that he couldn't see anything on the beach; but when he came level with that big rock they call Neptune's Seat he saw a dead man lying on it.” “Sure he was dead?” “Billingford was quite sure about it. He says he was in the R.A.M.C. in the war and knows a dead 'un when he sees one.” “Well, what next?” “I didn't question him much; just left him in charge of Sapcote till I came back. Then I hunted up a couple of fishermen from the village and went off myself along with them to Neptune's Seat. I made them stick to the road; and when I got within a couple of hundred yards of the rock, I left them and went down to the very edge of the water—below Billingford's marks, as the tide was still falling—and kept along there. There was enough moonlight to save me from trampling over anyone's footmarks and I took care to keep clear of anything of that sort.” Sir Clinton gave a nod of approval, but did not interrupt the story by any verbal comment. “The body was there all right,” Armadale continued. “He'd been shot through the heart—probably with a small-calibre bullet, I should think. Dead as a doornail, anyhow. There was nothing to be done for him, so I left him as he was. My main idea was to avoid muddling up any footprints there might be on the sand.” Again Sir Clinton mutely showed his approval of the inspector's methods. Armadale continued his narrative: “It was too dim a light to make sure of things just then, a bit cloudy. So the best thing seemed to be to put the men I had with me to patrol the road and warn anyone off the sands. Not that anyone was likely to be about at that hour of the morning. I didn't think it worth while to knock you up, sir, until it got a bit brighter; but as soon as there seemed any chance of getting to work, I came up here. You understand, sir, the tide's coming in; and it'll wash out any tracks as it rises. It's a case of now or never if you want to see them. That's why I couldn't delay any longer. We've got to make the best of the time we have between dawn and high tide.” Armadale paused, and looked at Sir Clinton doubtfully. “I understand, inspector.” The chief constable answered his unspoken query. “There's no room for fooling at present. This is a case where we're up against time. Come along!”