She measured the distance from high-water mark with a glance, and shook her head. "Too far away," she declared. "There was a wild sea last night," I answered, "and such a tide as I have never seen here before." "What are you doing with it?" she asked, pointing with her whip. "John Hefford is bringing a wagon," I answered. "I suppose he had better take it to the police station." She wheeled her horse round. "I am glad that it is no worse," she said. "There are reports going about of a terrible shipwreck. I trust that you are feeling better, Mr. Ducaine?" "I am quite recovered--thanks to your kindness and Colonel Ray's," I answered. She nodded. "You will hear from my father during the day," she said. "He is quite anxious to come to your lecture. Good-morning." "Good-morning, Lady Angela." She galloped away. Miss Moyat turned towards me eagerly. "Why, Mr. Ducaine," she exclaimed, "I had no idea that you knew Lady Angela." "Nor do I," I answered shortly. "Our acquaintance is of the slightest." "What did she mean about the lecture?" I affected not to hear. John the wagoner had pulled up his team by the side of the palings, and was touching his hat respectfully. "Another job for the dead 'ouse, sir, my missis tells me." "There is the body of a dead man here, John," I answered, "washed up by the tide, I suppose. It isn't an uncommon occurrence here, is it?" "Lor bless you, no, sir," the man answered, stepping over the palings. "I had three of them here in one month last year. If you'll just give me a hand, sir, we'll take him down to the police station." I set my teeth and advanced towards the dead man. John Hefford proved at once that he was superior to all such trifles as nerves. He lifted the body up and laid it for the first time flat upon the sands. "My! he's had a nasty smash on the head," John remarked, looking down at him with simple curiosity. "Quite the gent too, I should say. Will you give me a hand, sir, and we'll have him in the wagon." So I was forced to touch him after all. Nevertheless I kept my eyes as far as possible from the ghastly face with the long hideous wound across it. I saw now, however, in one swift unwilling glance, what manner of man this was. He had thin features, a high forehead, deep-set eyes too close together, a thin iron-grey moustache. Whatever his station in life may have been, he was not of the labouring classes, for his hands were soft and his nails well cared for. We laid him in the bottom of the wagon, and covered him over with a couple of sacks. John cracked the whip and strode along by the side of the horses. Blanche Moyat and I followed behind. She was unusually silent, and once or twice I caught her glancing curiously at me, as though she had something which it was in her mind to say, but needed encouragement. As we neared my cottage she asked me a question.