“About an hour ago, sir—maybe a bit more,” replied Hobbs. “I come this way to my work every morning. I caught sight of him as I was passing the top there, and I came down to take a look at him. Then I saw he was dead, so I covered him up with my coat and ran along to the village to tell the policeman there.” “He was dead when you found him?” asked the Chief Constable. “Made out he was dead enough, sir! I touched his hand and his face—stone cold they was, both of ’em.” The Chief Constable turned to the police-surgeon, who went forward and removed the cloak. He stooped down and made a hasty examination; then rose and spoke with decision. “He’s been dead from, I should say, two to three hours—perhaps a little longer,” he said. “Shot dead—a revolver, presumably.” “Found anything of that sort?” asked the Chief Constable of the policeman. “Nothing, sir. I’ve looked carefully all round. There’s nothing.” “Murder then!” muttered the Chief Constable. He went nearer and looked intently at the dead man. “I suppose this is Mr. Guy Markenmore?” he said, glancing at the keeper and the policeman. “I’ve never seen him, you know—he’d left before I came to Selcaster.” “This is Guy Markenmore, without a doubt,” said the police-surgeon. “I knew him well enough. He’s very little altered, either. You knew him, too, of course,” he continued, with a look at the keeper. “You can recognize him?” “Oh, I know him, sir,” exclaimed the keeper. “That’s Mr. Guy, right enough, that is! I’d know him anywhere—poor gentleman!” The Chief Constable looked round. Markenmore Court caught his eye, lying amongst its elms and beeches three-quarters of a mile away across the shelving hill-side. He shook his head. “This is a bad business,” he muttered. “Who on earth should want to murder him? Been away for—seven years, isn’t it? Well, he’ll have to be removed, and we shall have to inform the coroner at once. Blick,” he continued, turning to the plain-clothes man, “you take charge of this. Send down to the village for help—have the body brought down to the Court; the inquest can be held there. Let Hobbs there run down to the village—send Walshaw back in the dog-cart to Selcaster for the other policeman—and have all round here thoroughly examined for footmarks, and so on. Doctor, will you stay by and come down with them to the Court when they’re ready to remove him?—you’ll no doubt want to make a more careful examination. Now then—we’ve got to break the news to the family. Mr. Fransemmery, I think you know them all pretty well—will you walk down with me? A painful duty, but it’s got to be done.” Mr. Fransemmery bowed his head, and he and the Chief Constable set off at a smart pace across the downs. For awhile they walked in silence: the Chief Constable broke it. “I understand that Sir Anthony’s about at his last end,” he said. “This—hello, what’s that?”