What he did do on that lonely fog-ridden beach and in the silence of that dank and misty night, was to dress up the body of Adam Lambert, the smith, in the fantastic clothing of Prince Amédé d'Orléans: the red cloth doublet, the lace collars and cuffs, the bunches of ribbon at knee and waist, and the black silk shade over the left eye. All he omitted were the perruque and the false mustache. Having accomplished this work, he himself donned the clothes of Adam Lambert. This part of his task being done, he had to rest for a while. 'Tis no easy matter to undress and redress an inert mass. The smith, dressed in the elaborate accouterments of the mysterious French prince, now lay face upwards on the sand. The tide was rapidly setting in. In less than half an hour it would reach this portion of the beach. Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse, however, had not yet accomplished all that he meant to do. He knew that the sea-waves had a habit of returning that which they took away. Therefore, his purpose was not fully accomplished when he had dressed the dead smith in the clothes of the Orléans prince. Else had he wished it, he could have consigned his victim to the tide. But Adam--dead--had now to play a part in the grim comedy which Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse had designed for his own safety, and the more assured success of all his frauds and plans. Therefore, after a brief rest, the murderer set to work again. A more grim task yet! one from which of a truth more than one evil-doer would recoil. Not so this bold schemer, this mad worshiper of money and of self. Everything! anything for the safety of Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse, for the peaceful possession of £500,000. Everything! Even the desecration of the dead! The murderer was powerful, and there is a strength which madness gives. Heavy boulders pushed by vigorous arms had to help in the monstrous deed! Heavy boulders thrown and rolled over the face of the dead, so as to obliterate all identity! Nay! had a sound now disturbed the silence of this awesome night, surely it had been the laughter of demons aghast at such a deed! The moon indeed hid her face, retreating once more behind the veils of mist. The breeze itself was lulled and the fog gathered itself together and wrapped the unavowable horrors of the night in a gray and ghoul-like shroud. Madness lurked in the eyes of the sacrilegious murderer. Madness which helped him not only to carry his grim task to the end, but, having accomplished it, to see that it was well done. And his hand did not tremble, as he raised the lantern and looked down on _that_ which had once been Adam Lambert, the smith. Nay, had those laughing demons looked on it, they would have veiled their faces in awe! The gentle wavelets of the torpid tide were creeping round that thing in red doublet and breeches, in high top boots, lace cuffs and collar. Sir Marmaduke looked down calmly upon his work, and did not even shudder with horror.