He took my meaning on the instant, and bending down, did what I suggested. A smothered exclamation came from him. "Money?" he said. "His pocket's full o' money!" "Bring it out," I commanded. He withdrew his hand; opened it; the palm was full of gold. The light of the morning sun flashed on those coins as if in mockery. We both looked at them--and then at each other with a sudden mutual intelligence. "Then it wasn't robbery!" I exclaimed. "So--" He thrust back the gold, and pulling at a thick chain of steel which lay across Quick's waistcoat, drew out a fine watch. "Gold again, sir!" he said. "And a good 'un, that's never been bought for less than thirty pound. No, it's not been robbery." "No," I agreed, "and that makes it all the more mysterious. What's your name?" "Tarver, sir, at your service," he answered, as he rose from the dead man's side. "Been on this estate a many years, sir." "Well, Tarver," I said, "the only thing to be done is that I must go back to the house and tell Mr. Raven what's happened, and send for the police. Do you stay here--and if anybody comes along, be very careful to keep them off those footmarks." "Not likely that there'll be anybody, sir," he remarked. "As lonely a bit of coast, this, as there is, hereabouts. What beats me," he added, "is--what was he--and the man as did it--doing, here? There's naught to come here for. And--it must ha' happened in the night, judging by the looks of him." "The whole thing's a profound mystery," I answered. "We shall hear a lot more of it." I left him standing by the dead man and went hurriedly away towards Ravensdene Court. Glancing at my watch as I passed through the belt of pine, I saw that it was already getting on to nine o'clock and breakfast time. But this news of mine would have to be told: this was no time for waiting or for ceremony. I must get Mr. Raven aside, at once, and we must send for the nearest police officer, and-- Just then, fifty yards in front of me, I saw Mr. Cazalette vanishing round the corner of the long yew-hedge, at the end nearest to the house. So--he had evidently been back to the place whereat he had hidden the stained linen, whatever it was? Coming up to that place a moment later, and making sure that I was not observed, I looked in amongst the twigs and foliage. The thing was gone. This deepened the growing mystery more than ever. I began, against my will, to piece things together. Mr. Cazalette, returning from the beach, hides a blood-stained rag--I, going to the beach, find a murdered man--coming back, I ascertain that Mr. Cazalette has already removed what he had previously hidden. What connection was there--if any at all--between Mr. Cazalette's actions and my discovery? To say the least of it, the whole thing was queer, strange, and even suspicious.