“There’ll be a sheep-track somewhere along here,” said Blick. “Where a sheep can go, we can—at a pinch.” But some minutes passed before they found a means of descending into the depths of the ravine wherein the others there awaited their coming. Once in its recesses the Professor wondered at the precipice-like character of the cliff down which they had made their way. Above the spot at which Valencia and her two companions were standing, the granite walls rose high and cliff-like; at one place there was a sheer drop of two hundred feet, terminating in a wild and broken mass of rock and shrub; it was at the lower edge of this wilderness that the three stood, looking alternately into its recesses and at the men hurrying along the level floor of the ravine towards them. At Mr. Fransemmery’s heels, held in a leash made out of his master’s handkerchief, the Airedale terrier fretted and whimpered, evidently desirous of once more penetrating into the gorse bushes from whence he had been unceremoniously dragged. “That’s Fransemmery’s dog—the chap that unearthed the automatic pistol!” said Blick. “I wonder if he’s made another discovery?” Harborough came slowly towards them. As he approached he gave Blick a warning look and pointed to the pine trees. “I say!” he said in a hushed voice, as they drew near. “There’s a man lying dead in there!—he must have fallen over the cliff. The terrier found him—we couldn’t get him away, so I went in for him and saw this man—dead, I say. Come and see!” They were up to the other two by that time, and Blick, without further question or any ceremony, plunged in amongst the trees, followed by the three men. “Where is he? Who is he?” he asked. “Anybody you know?” “A stranger—looks like a tourist,” said Harborough. “Here, at the foot of the rocks!” He thrust and held aside the clinging branches of the pines, and suddenly revealed the body of a man, lying in a curiously twisted attitude across a mass of sharp-edged stone. One glance upward was sufficient to show what had befallen him; he had slipped from the edge of the precipice far above, and crashed without a break, on the place where he lay: a little distance from him lay the walking-stick which he had dropped from his hand as he fell. With a sharp exclamation Blick sprang forward and turned the face, hitherto crushed in amongst a cushion of moss and heather, to the light. He rose, staring at it. “Good God!” he said. “It’s Crawley—the man I met——” But a stronger, far more astonished exclamation came from the Professor, as he in his turn saw the dead man’s face. “Crawley?” he said. “Crawley? Man alive!—That’s Carter! Carter! Carter, I tell you!” Blick felt as if an ice-cold wave of illumination had washed across his brain. He turned on the Professor with searching eyes. “Carter!” he exclaimed. “Your assistant?” “My assistant!” “The man who carried your sealed letter to Guy Markenmore?”