A heavy knock sounded from below, followed by the Chinaman’s voice, intermingled with boyish accents demanding Sedgwick in the name of the Western Union Telegraph Company. “Send him up,” ordered Sedgwick, and the boy arrived; but not before Kent had quietly removed _The Rough Rider_ from its place of exhibit. “Special from the village,” announced young Mercury. “Sign here.” After the signature had been duly set down, and the signer had read his message with knit brows, the urchin lingered, big with news. “Say, heard about the body on the beach?” Kent turned quickly, to see Sedgwick’s face. It was interested, but unmoved as he replied: “No. Where was it found?” “Lonesome Cove. Woman. Dressed swell. Washed up on a grating last night or this morning.” “It’s curious how they all come in here, isn’t it?” said the artist to Kent. “This is the third this summer.” “And it’s a corkerino!” said the boy. “Sheriff’s on the case. Body was all chained up, they say.” “I’m sure they need you at the office to help circulate the news, my son,” said Kent. “And I’ll bet you this quarter, payable in advance, that you can’t get back in half an hour on your wheel.” With a grin the boy took the coin. “I got yer,” he said, and was off. “And now, Sedgwick,” said Kent decisively, “if I’m to help you, suppose you tell me all that you know about the woman who called on you last evening?” “Last evening? Ah, that wasn’t the girl of the picture. It’s an interminable six days since I’ve seen her.” “No; I know it wasn’t she, having seen your picture, and since then your visitor of last night. The question is, who was it?” “Wait! How did you know that a woman came here last night?” “From common gossip.” “And where have you seen her since?” “On the beach, at Lonesome Cove.” “Lonesome Cove,” repeated Sedgwick mechanically. Then with a startled glance: “Not the dead woman!” Kent nodded, watching him closely. For a space of four heart-beats—one very slow, and three very quick—there was silence between them. Kent broke it. “Do you see now the wisdom of frankness?” “You mean that I shall be accused of having a hand in her death?” “Strongly suspected, at least.” “On what basis?” “You are the last person known to have seen her alive.” “Surely that isn’t enough?” “Not of itself. There’s a bruise back of your right ear.” Involuntarily Sedgwick’s hand went to the spot. “Who gave it to you?” pursued Kent. “You know it all without my telling you,” cried Sedgwick. “But I never saw the woman before in my life, Kent—I give you my word of honor! She came and went, but who she is or why she came or where she went I have no more idea than you have. Perhaps not nearly so much.” “There you are wrong. I’m depending on you to tell me about her.” “Not if my life hung on it. And how could her being found drowned on the beach be connected with me?” “I didn’t say that she was found drowned on the beach.”