"Two of your fellows are fetching it along. I was going to ask you as a favour to let it lie here for the time while we follow up the search." "Of course you may. But who is it?" "An old man in sea clothes. Harry knows him; says he hails from Falmouth, and that his name is Coffin. And we've arrested a young fellow on suspicion, though I begin to think he hasn't much to do with it; but, as it happens, he comes from Falmouth too, and knows the deceased." Miss Belcher hitched an old riding-skirt off a peg and indued it over her red flannel petticoat, fastening it about her waist with a leathern strap and buckle. "Well, the first thing is to fetch the body along, and then I'll go down with you and have a look." "I've halted the men about a hundred yards down the hill. I thought perhaps you'd step straight along with me to the house, so as to be out of the way when they--But, anyhow, if you insist on coming, we can fetch across the cricket-field and down to the left, so that you needn't meet it." "Bless the man!"--Miss Belcher had turned to another peg, taken down a loose weather-stained gardening-jacket, and was slipping an arm into the sleeve--"you don't suppose, do you, that I'm the sort of person to be scared by a dead body? Open the door, please, and lead the way. This is a serious business, Jack, and I doubt if you have the head for it." Sure enough, the sight of the dead body on the hurdle shook Miss Belcher's nerve not at all, or, at any rate, not discernibly. "Humph!" she said. "Take him to the pavilion and cover him decently. You'll find a yard or two of clean awning in the left-hand corner of the scoring-box." She eyed Mr. Goodfellow for a couple of seconds and swung round upon Mr. Rogers. "Is that the man you've arrested?" Mr. Rogers nodded. "Fiddlestick-end!" "I beg your pardon?" "Fiddlestick-end! Look at the man's face. And you call yourself a justice of the peace?" "It was thrust upon me," said Mr. Rogers, modestly. "I don't say he's guilty, mind you; and, of course, if you say he isn't--" "Look at his face!" repeated Miss Belcher; and, turning, addressed Mr. Goodfellow. "My good man, you hadn't any hand in this--eh?" "No, ma'am; in course I hadn't," Mr. Goodfellow answered fervently. "There! You hear what he says?" "Lydia, Lydia! I've the highest possible respect for your judgment; but isn't this what you might cull a trifle--er--summary?" "It saves time," said Miss Belcher. "And if you're going to catch the real culprit, time is precious. Now take me to see the spot." But at this point Mr. Goodfellow's emotions overmastered him, and he broke forth into the language of rhapsody. "O woman, woman!" exclaimed Mr. Goodfellow, "whatever would the world do without your wondrous instink!" "Bless the man!"--Miss Belcher drew back a pace--"is he talking of me?"