Pratt was of considerable physical strength. He played cricket and football; he visited a gymnasium thrice a week. His hands had the grip of a blacksmith; his muscles were those of a prize-fighter. He had put more strength than he was aware of into his fierce grip on Parrawhite's throat; he had exerted far more force than he knew he was exerting, when he flung him away. He heard a queer cracking sound as the man struck something, and for the moment he took no notice of it--the pain of that glancing blow on his shoulder was growing acute, and he began to rub it with his free hand and to curse its giver. "Get up, you fool, and I'll give you some more!" he growled. "I'll teach you to----" He suddenly noticed the curiously still fashion in which Parrawhite was lying where he had flung him--noticed, too, as a cloud passed the moon and left it unveiled, how strangely white the man's face was. And just as suddenly Pratt forgot his own injury, and dropped on his knees beside his assailant. An instant later, and he knew that he was once more confronting death. For Parrawhite was as dead as Antony Bartle--violent contact of his head with a rock had finished what Pratt had nearly completed with that vicious grip. There was no questioning it, no denying it--Pratt was there in that lonely place, staring half consciously, half in terror, at a dead man. He stood up at last, cursing Parrawhite with the anger of despair. He had not one scrap of pity for him. All his pity was for himself. That he should have been brought into this!--that this vile little beast, perfect scum that he was, should have led him to what might be the utter ruin of his career!--it was shameful, it was abominable, it was cruel! He felt as if he could cheerfully tear Parrawhite's dead body to pieces. But even as these thoughts came, others of a more important nature crowded on them. For--there lay a dead man, who was not to be put in one's pocket, like a will. It was necessary to hide that thing from the light--ever that light. Within a few hours, morning would break, and lonely and deserted as that place was nowadays, some one might pass that way. Out of sight with him, then!--and quickly.