“I decline absolutely to be cross-examined about my movements. If you are unable or unwilling to order the removal of the body, I’ll telegraph to the chief of police at Knolesworth, and ask him to act. Further, I shall request Dr. Foxton to examine the poor lady’s injuries. It strikes me as a monstrous proceeding that you should attempt to record my evidence at this moment, and I refuse to become a party to it.” “Now, then, Robinson, stop yer Sherlock Holmes work, an’ help me to lift this poor woman on to the stretcher,” said Bates gruffly. The policeman’s red face grew a shade deeper with annoyance, but he had the sense to avoid a scene. He was not popular in the village, and was well aware that the two rustics pressed into service as stretcher-bearers would joyfully retail the fact that he had been “set down a peg or two by Mr. Grant.” “I’ll do all that’s necessary in that way, sir,” he said stiffly. “I suppose you have no objection to my askin’ if you noticed any strange footprints on the ground hereabouts?” “That was the first thing I looked for, both here and outside the window—the latter, of course, for another reason. I found none. These stones would show no signs. The ground is so dry that even the five men now present leave no traces, but I remember seeing in the bed of the stream certain marks which, unfortunately, were obliterated when Bates hauled the body ashore. They were valueless, however—shapeless indentations in the mud and sand.” “Were they wide apart or close together, sir?” “Quite irregular. No one could judge by the length of the stride whether they were made by the feet of a man or a woman, if that is what you have in mind ... but, really—” Grant’s impatient motion was not to be misunderstood. Robinson stooped, removed the rug, and unfastened the rope, after noting carefully how it was tied, a point which he called on the others to observe as well. Then he and the villagers went away with their sad burden, the rug being requisitioned once more to hide that wan face from the vivid sunshine. Bates had a trick of grasping a handful of his short whiskers when puzzled; he did so now; it seemed to be an unconscious effort to pull his jaws apart in order to emit speech. “I’ve a sort of idee, sir,” he said slowly, “that Robinson saw Doris Martin on the lawn with ’ee last night.” Grant turned on his henchman in a sudden heat of anger. “Miss Martin’s name must be kept out of this matter,” he growled. But Sussex is not easily browbeaten when it thinks itself in the right. “All very well a-sayin’ that, sir, but a-doin’ of it is a bird of another color,” argued Bates firmly. “How did you know that Miss Martin was here?” “Bless your heart, sir, how comes it that us Steynholme folk know everythink about other folk’s business? Sometimes we know more’n they knows themselves. You’ve not walked a yard wi’ Doris that the women’s tittle-tattle hasn’t made it into a mile.”