There was a suggestion in the man's tone which made me think that he had come there with a particular object, and I looked at him more attentively. He was a shortish, thick-set man, hound-faced, frank of eye and lip; no beauty, for he had a shock of sandy-red hair and three or four days' stubble on his cheeks and chin; yet his apparent frankness and a certain steadiness of gaze set him up as an honest fellow. His clothing was rough; there were bits of straw, hay, wood about it, as if he were well acquainted with farming life; in his right hand he carried a stout ash-plant stick. "You are right, my friend," answered the inspector. "It is! What are you wanting?" The man looked up the steps at his informant with a glance in which there was a decided sense of humour. Something in the situation seemed to amuse him. "You'll not know me," he replied. "My name's Beeman--James Beeman. I come fro' near York. I'm t' chap 'at were mentioned by one o' t' witnesses at t' inquest on that strange man 'at were murdered hereabouts. I should ha' called to see you about t' matter before now, but I've nobbut just come back into this part o' t' country; I been away up i' t' Cheviot Hills there." "Oh?" said the inspector. "And--what mention was made of you?" James Beeman showed a fine set of teeth in a grin that seemed to stretch completely across his homely face. "I'm t' chap 'at were spoken of as asking about t' graves o' t' Netherfield family," he answered. "You know--on t' roadside one night, off a fellow 'at I chanced to meet wi' outside Lesbury. That's who I am!" The inspector turned to Miss Raven and myself with a look which meant more than he could express in words. "Talk about coincidence!" he whispered. "This is the very man we'd just mentioned. Come back to my office and hear what he's got to tell. Follow me," he continued, beckoning the caller. "I'm much obliged to you for coming. Now," he continued, when all four of us were within his room. "What can you tell me about that? What do you know about the grave of the Netherfields?" Beeman laughed, shaking his round head. Now that his old hat was removed, the fiery hue of his poll was almost alarming in its crudeness of hue.