“What!” He cried; “a corpse?” “No,” she said calmly. “I was thinking of the two thousand five hundred pounds in gold that you told me had been stolen.” He paused. “This is really very clever of you,” he said. “But why should they throw it into the river.” “Well,” she said, “it’s high tide, or rather it was, about an hour and a half ago. They might have sunk the money, intending to recover it at their leisure during the night when the tide sank.” “Yes, I must repeat,” he said; “this is really very clever of you.” They were already beginning to descend the broadest of the three paths which led from the level of the gardens to the level of the river, and the wheelmarks of an automobile were clearly visible thereon, when Carpentaria halted. “Suppose,” he whispered, “they are there now?” “Who? Mr. Jetsam and my sister?” “No, not your sister. Mr. Jetsam and his--other accomplices--whoever they may be. I do not imagine that your sister has been concerned in the actual--er--affair. Indeed, she was at home with you at the time. But if Jetsam, for instance, should be down there now, alone or with others, there might be a row on my appearance. I will therefore ask you to stay where you are, Miss Dartmouth.” She shook her head. “I have begun,” she said, “and I will go through with it. Besides, what danger could there be? People don’t go shooting and killing promiscuously like that.” “Oh, don’t they!” Carpentaria exclaimed. “Moreover, I have no fancy to be left alone here now,” she added. “And most likely there isn’t anyone there at all.” “Hush!” said Carpentaria. “Can’t you hear the splash of an oar? Listen!” They listened. “Yes,” she murmured. “And is not that the noise of a boat crunching on the beach?” The path disappeared mysteriously before them under the terrace; they could not see the end of it. But the sound-waves came clearly enough through the little tunnel. “We will go back,” said Carpentaria, “and slip on to the terrace. Behind the parapet we can see anything that may happen to be going on. But quietly, quietly, dear lady.” In a few moments they were creeping across the broad terrace. Simultaneously they bent down, side by side, under the parapet and looked between its squat, rounded pillars at the water below. Pauline gave a slight smothered cry, which Carpentaria, with an imperious gesture, bade her check. “Not a word,” he whispered in her ear. Rosie--Rosie and no other--was manoeuvring a boat off the shore. Her face, her dress, her hat, were plainly visible in the moonlight. She stood up in the boat, and by means of a boat-hook hooked to a large oblong stone, drew the boat to the shore. She then seized the painter and jumped lightly out.