"Poor fellow's wound has broken out again," thought Oldroyd, as he jumped into the dog-cart the groom had waiting, and he questioned the man, who only knew that the keeper had come in to see Sir John that morning, and then he had been sent off to fetch the doctor. "Terrible dry time, sir," said the man as the horse sped along toward the park. "We out of the stables had all to go and help the gardeners two whole days watering." "Yes; the crops are suffering badly, my man." "They just are, sir. The lake's half empty, and the fish getting sick, and Hayle says the boggy bits beyond the park where they get the snipe in winter's nearly all dried up." "The conversation ended as the dog-cart was rattled up the lime avenue, and there, at the great porch, stood Sir John, the major, and Hayle the keeper." "Morning! Glad you've come," said Sir John, shaking hands. "That will do, Smith." The groom, who was eager to know what was the matter, drove sulkily round to the stables, while Sir John took the doctor's arm. "Look here, Oldroyd," he said; "the keeper has made a discovery in the bog wood over yonder." "Poacher shot!" exclaimed the doctor. "Wait and see," said Sir John, who was looking pallid; while the major had a peculiarly stern look in his fierce face. Oldroyd bowed, and they walked rapidly across the park, and through some of the preserves. Then in and out among the pines till an open moorland patch was reached, dotted here and there with scrubby pines, and here Sir John turned. "Now, Hayle," he said; "you lead." The keeper went in front, and Sir John followed; while the major came abreast of the doctor. "We thought it better to have you with us, doctor," whispered the major. "It's a terrible business--a clearing up of a sad event from what I can see." Oldroyd felt more mystified than ever, but he was soon to be illumined, for the keeper led them over the dry cotton rushes and rustling reeds to a dried up pool, half in the open, half hidden by a dense growth of alder. Here he paused and pointed. "On yonder, Sir John, about fifty yards." The baronet walked straight forward, parting the growth with his stout stick, till he stopped short at the edge of a dried up pool, where the first thing Oldroyd saw was Marjorie Emlin seated on the edge, where a wiry tuft of rushes grew, with her feet amongst the dried confervae and crowfoot at the bottom of the pool. She had taken off her hat, and the sun turned her rich, tawny, red hair to gold as she bent over something which glittered in her hands; and this she transferred to one wrist as they came up. It was not till they were close beside her that she turned her head, and nodded and smiled in a childish, vacant way, and then held up the glittering bracelet upon her wrist for them to admire. "Better speak to her," whispered Sir John. "Hayle says she's quite mad." Oldroyd stooped and picked up the hat and handed it to the girl.