Varner turned back, making a way through the cypresses. He led Bryce to the foot of the great wall of the nave. There in the corner formed by the angle of nave and transept, on a broad pavement of flagstones, lay the body of a man crumpled up in a curiously twisted position. And with one glance, even before he reached it, Bryce knew what body it was--that of the man who had come, shyly and furtively, to Ransford's door. “Look!” exclaimed Varner, suddenly pointing. “He's stirring!” Bryce, whose gaze was fastened on the twisted figure, saw a slight movement which relaxed as suddenly as it had occurred. Then came stillness. “That's the end!” he muttered. “The man's dead! I'll guarantee that before I put a hand on him. Dead enough!” he went on, as he reached the body and dropped on one knee by it. “His neck's broken.” The mason bent down and looked, half-curiously, half-fearfully, at the dead man. Then he glanced upward--at the open door high above them in the walls. “It's a fearful drop, that, sir,” he said. “And he came down with such violence. You're sure it's over with him?” “He died just as we came up,” answered Bryce. “That movement we saw was the last effort--involuntary, of course. Look here, Varner!--you'll have to get help. You'd better fetch some of the cathedral people--some of the vergers. No!” he broke off suddenly, as the low strains of an organ came from within the great building. “They're just beginning the morning service--of course, it's ten o'clock. Never mind them--go straight to the police. Bring them back--I'll stay here.” The mason turned off towards the gateway of the Close, and while the strains of the organ grew louder, Bryce bent over the dead man, wondering what had really happened. Thrown from an open doorway in the clerestory over St. Wrytha's Stair?--it seemed almost impossible! But a sudden thought struck him: supposing two men, wishing to talk in privacy unobserved, had gone up into the clerestory of the Cathedral--as they easily could, by more than one door, by more than one stair--and supposing they had quarrelled, and one of them had flung or pushed the other through the door above--what then? And on the heels of that thought hurried another--this man, now lying dead, had come to the surgery, seeking Ransford, and had subsequently gone away, presumably in search of him, and Bryce himself had just seen Ransford, obviously agitated and pale of cheek, leaving the west porch; what did it all mean? what was the apparently obvious inference to be drawn? Here was the stranger dead--and Varner was ready to swear that he had seen him thrown, flung violently, through the door forty feet above. That was--murder! Then--who was the murderer?