“Puzzling!” admitted the Professor. “Yet I suppose that a man who had much at stake wouldn’t mind sticking it out in these woods for a few hours—the nights are warm now, and there’s a lot of shelter here, in these valleys. Now, what amazes me is—if this man murdered Guy Markenmore, as I’m sure he did, why didn’t he murder him on Monday night and get away in the darkness?” Blick laughed. “I’ll tell you why,” he answered. “He was a man whom Guy Markenmore had taken into his confidence about this dye affair. He had come down with him, fully acquainted with what Guy was doing. He knew that the money business was likely to be settled that night. And he waited until morning so that he could possess himself of the cash as well as the formula you have told us of—with your opinion attached to it. Probably he is the man of whom Markenmore’s clerk at Folgrave Court told you, and we’ll have to try and find him. But the clue’s thin and poor, so far.” The Professor nodded, paused, and looked about him. While talking, they had strolled slowly along the hill-side into a still wilder stretch of country. They were now standing on the edge of a deep ravine, which cut into the land beneath to a depth of some two hundred feet; here and there the fall was precipitous; in the dark and gloomy recesses far below great masses of yew and pine were broken by huge blocks of grey limestone; over everything hovered a sombre and mysterious silence. But suddenly the Professor broke it. “There is somebody signalling to us!” he exclaimed. “Down there! A woman!” Blick looked in the direction indicated, and started in surprise. Far away below them, a little to their right, he saw a woman’s figure standing near a grove of trees which lay at the foot of the most precipitous part of the ravine. And, as the Professor said, she was certainly endeavouring to attract their attention. “Good Heavens!” he said. “That’s Miss Valencia Markenmore! Whatever is she doing down there? Do you know what they call this place?—the Devil’s Grip! Grip, I suppose, means a sharp cut in the surface of the land. But what can she want?” “Let us make our way down,” suggested the Professor. “We are evidently wanted. Hello! there are men, too!” Two figures had just emerged from amongst the cluster of pine trees near which Valencia stood. Blick suddenly recognized them as those of Harborough and Mr. Fransemmery. They, recognizing the detective, also began signalling to him. “There’s something afoot down there!” he muttered. “Looks to me as if they’d made some discovery. Look here, sir!—that tall man is Harborough, who, as I told you, was accused of the murder by Mrs. Tretheroe; the other is Mr. Fransemmery, the old gentleman who has figured in the case.” “I know Fransemmery by name,” replied the Professor. “He’s a member of an archaeological society to which I also belong—I’ve corresponded with him. Now, how can we get down there without breaking our necks.”