Indeed, we had passed through a long and trying ordeal, the particulars whereof have no bearing upon the present matter, and in renting this tiny and remote cottage we had sought complete seclusion and forgetfulness of those evil activities of man which had so long engaged our attention. How ill we had chosen will now appear. I had turned again to the open window, when my meditations were interrupted by a sound that seemed to come from somewhere away behind the cottage. Cigarette in hand, I leaned upon the sill, listening, then turned and glanced toward the littered table. East, his eyes steely bright in the lamplight, was watching me. "You heard it?" I said. "Clearly. A woman's shriek!" "Listen!" Tense, expectant, we sat listening for some time, until I began to suspect that we had been deceived by the note of some unfamiliar denizen of the moors. Then, faintly, chokingly, the sound was repeated, seemingly from much nearer. "Come on!" snapped East. Hatless, we both hurried around to the rear of the cottage. As we came out upon the slope, a figure appeared on the brow of a mound some two hundred yards away and stood for a moment silhouetted against the moonlit sky. It was that of a woman. She raised her arms at sight of us--and staggered forward. Just in the nick of time we reached her, for her strength was almost spent. East caught her in his arms. "Good God!" he said, "it is Miss Baird!" What could it mean? The girl, who was near to swooning and inarticulate with fatigue and emotion, was the daughter of Sir Jeffrey Baird, our neighbour, whose house, The Warrens, was visible from where we stood. East half led, half carried her down the slope to the cottage; and there I gave her professional attention, whilst, with horror-bright eyes and parted lips, she fought for mastery of herself. She was a rather pretty girl, but highly emotional, and her pathetically weak mouth was doubtless a maternal heritage, for her father, Sir Jeffrey, had the mouth and jaw of the old fighter that he was. At last she achieved speech. "My father!" she whispered brokenly; "oh, my poor father!" "What!" I began---- "At Black Gap!..." "Black Gap!" I said; for the place was close upon half a mile away. "Have you come so far?" "He is lying there! My poor father--dead!" "What!" cried East, springing up--"Sir Jeffrey--dead? Not drowned?" "No, no! he is lying on the path this side of the Gap! I ... almost stumbled over ... him. He has been ... murdered! Oh, God help me!..." East and I stared at one another, speechless with the sudden horror of it. Sir Jeffrey murdered! Suddenly the distracted girl turned to my friend, clutching frenziedly at his arm.