"Come on, then," said Cotherstone. He hurried into the hall and snatched up an overcoat. "Fetch me that lantern out of the kitchen," he called to the parlourmaid. "Light it! Don't you be afraid, Lettie," he went on, turning to his daughter. "There's naught to be afraid of--now. You gentlemen coming with us?" Bent and Brereton had already got into their coats: when the maid came with the lantern, all four men went out. And as soon as they were in the garden Cotherstone turned on Garthwaite. "How do you know he's murdered?" he asked. "How could you tell?" "I'll tell you all about it, now we're outside," answered Garthwaite. "I'd been over to Spennigarth, to see Hollings. I came back over the Shawl, and made a short cut through the wood. And I struck my foot against something--something soft, you know--I don't like thinking of that! And so I struck a match, and looked, and saw this old fellow--don't like thinking of that, either. He was laid there, a few yards out of the path that runs across the Shawl at that point. I saw he was dead--and as for his being murdered, well, all I can say is, he's been strangled! That's flat." "Strangled!" exclaimed Bent. "Aye, without doubt," replied Garthwaite. "There's a bit of rope round his neck that tight that I couldn't put my little finger between it and him! But you'll see for yourselves--it's not far up the Shawl. You never heard anything, Mr. Cotherstone?" "No, we heard naught," answered Cotherstone. "If it's as you say, there'd be naught to hear." He had led them out of his grounds by a side-gate, and they were now in the thick of the firs and pines which grew along the steep, somewhat rugged slope of the Shawl. He put the lantern into Garthwaite's hand. "Here--you show the way," he said. "I don't know where it is, of course." "You were going straight to it," remarked Garthwaite. He turned to Brereton, who was walking at his side. "You're a lawyer, aren't you?" he asked. "I heard that Mr. Bent had a lawyer friend stopping with him just now--we hear all the bits of news in a little place like Highmarket. Well--you'll understand, likely--it hadn't been long done!" "You noticed that?" said Brereton. "I touched him," replied Garthwaite. "His hand and cheek were--just warm. He couldn't have been dead so very long--as I judged matters. And--here he is!" He twisted sharply round the corner of one of the great masses of limestone which cropped out amongst the trees, and turned the light of the lantern on the dead man. "There!" he said in a hushed voice. "There!" The four men came to a halt, each gazing steadily at the sight they had come to see. It needed no more than a glance to assure each that he was looking on death: there was that in Kitely's attitude which forbade any other possibility. "He's just as I found him," whispered Garthwaite. "I came round this rock from there, d'ye see, and my foot knocked against his shoulder. But, you know, he's been dragged here! Look at that!"