“The deceased was not drowned.” Emerging from his reverie, Chester Kent had leisurely risen in his place and made his statement. “N-n-not drowned!” gasped the medical man. “Certainly not! As you must know, if you made an autopsy.” “No autopsy was necessary,” replied the other quickly. “There’s plenty of testimony without that. We’ve heard the witnesses that saw the drowned body on the grating it washed ashore on.” “The body never washed ashore on that grating.” A murmur ran through the crowd. “How do you figure that?” called a voice. “On the under side of the grating I found a cocoon of a common moth. Half an hour in the water would have soaked the cocoon through and killed the insect inhabitant. The insect was alive.” “How’d the grating get there, then?” “Dragged down from the high-water mark on the beach. It was an old half-rotted affair such as no ship would carry. Ask Sailor Smith.” “That’s true,” said the old seaman with conviction. “You’re an expert, Mr. Smith. Now, was that grating large enough to float a full grown human body?” “Why, as to that, a body ain’t but a mite heavier than the water. I should say it’d just barely float it, maybe.” “Exactly; but plus several pounds of clothing, and some dead metal extra?” “No.” “The clothes would have been soaked, and handcuffs weigh something,” said Kent calmly. “There might have been extra spars under the grating, that got pounded loose on the beach and washed away,” propounded the medical officer desperately. “Look at the face,” said Kent with finality. “This is a bad coast. Most of you have seen drowned bodies. Did any one ever see an expression of such terror and agony on the face of one who came to death by drowning?” [Illustration: _Murder! echoed a voice from the doorway._] “No, by thunder!” shouted somebody. “He’s right.” Others took up the cry. Clamor rose and spread in the room. The sheriff silenced it with a stentorian voice. “What are you trying to get at?” he demanded, facing Kent. “The truth. What are you?” Schlager’s eyelids flickered; but he ignored the counter-stroke. “Look out it don’t lead you where you won’t want to follow,” he returned, with a significant look at Sedgwick. “This is as far as it has led me,” said Kent, in his clear even voice. “The body, already dead, was dragged down and soaked in the sea, and then lashed to the grating by a man who probably is or has been a sailor.” “Then the deceased met death on shore, and presumably by violence,” said Lawyer Bain. “It’s murder!” cried a woman shrilly. “Bloody murder! That’s what it is!” “Murder!” echoed a voice from the doorway. Gansett Jim, his half-Indian, half-negro face alight with fury, stood there pointing with stiffened hand at Sedgwick. “Dah de murderer!” CHAPTER VI—THE RETREAT IN ORDER