"I'm afraid Mr. Kitely's past everything, too, then," said Bent. He looked steadily at her for a moment, and seeing that she understood, went on. "They're bringing him up, Miss Pett--you'd better make ready. You won't be alarmed--I don't think there's any doubt that he's been murdered." The woman gazed silently at her visitors; then, nodding her turbaned head, she drew back into the cottage. "It's what I expected," she muttered. "I warned him--more than once. Well--let them bring him, then." She vanished into a side-room, and Bent and Brereton went down the garden and met the others, carrying the dead man. Cotherstone followed behind the police, and as he approached Bent he pulled him by the sleeve and drew him aside. "There's a clue!" he whispered. "A clue, d'ye hear--a strong clue!" CHAPTER V THE CORD Ever since they had left the house at the foot of the pine wood, Brereton had been conscious of a curious psychological atmosphere, centring in Cotherstone. It had grown stronger as events had developed; it was still stronger now as they stood outside the dead man's cottage, the light from the open door and the white-curtained window falling on Cotherstone's excited face. Cotherstone, it seemed to Brereton, was unduly eager about something--he might almost be said to be elated. All of his behaviour was odd. He had certainly been shocked when Garthwaite burst in with the news--but this shock did not seem to be of the ordinary sort. He had looked like fainting--but when he recovered himself his whole attitude (so, at any rate, it had seemed to Brereton) had been that of a man who has just undergone a great relief. To put the whole thing into a narrow compass, it seemed as if Cotherstone appeared to be positively pleased to hear--and to find beyond doubt--that Kitely was dead. And now, as he stood glancing from one young man to the other, his eyes glittered as if he were absolutely enjoying the affair: he reminded Brereton of that type of theatre-goer who will insist on pointing out stage effects as they occur before his eyes, forcing his own appreciation of them upon fellow-watchers whose eyes are as keen as his own. "A strong clue!" repeated Cotherstone, and said it yet again. "A good 'un! And if it's right, it'll clear matters up." "What is it?" asked Bent. He, too, seemed to be conscious that there was something odd about his prospective father-in-law, and he was gazing speculatively at him as if in wonder. "What sort of a clue?" "It's a wonder it didn't strike me--and you, too--at first," said Cotherstone, with a queer sound that was half a chuckle. "But as long as it's struck somebody, eh? One's as good as another. You can't think of what it is, now?" "I don't know what you're thinking about," replied Bent, half impatiently. Cotherstone gave vent to an unmistakable chuckle at that, and he motioned them to follow him into the cottage.