“What I say. The cabin door was open, but I didn’t take no notice o’ that. He always sleeps with plenty o’ fresh air about. At first I thought he’d tumbled out of his bunk and stunned himself—till I saw something else on the floor—blood it was, missis. Then I took a closer look at him, and saw he was stone dead! Lyin’ on his face, he is—and the blood all round him.” “Where—whereabouts was he hurt?” “I dunno; I never stayed to see. What be I to do, missis? This is a case for the police, and——” “What’s the matter? What is a case for the police?” They turned quickly. Coming out of the garden gate of the house opposite the “Mariner’s Arms” was a little elderly man, with a perfectly bald head and clean-shaven face, like an egg. He was dressed in a loose velveteen jacket and grey flannel trousers, and wore a gaudy pair of woollen slippers. “What the matter?” “Oh, Mr. Proctor!” almost screamed Mrs. Yates, “I’m so glad you’ve come. It’s murder, sir!” “Mr. Templeton, sir,” cried Webb; “he’s been done to death—over there—on the yacht. I’ve just found him——” “Steady, my man, steady. Try and keep calm and tell me all about it. If it’s what you say, there’s no time to be lost.” Under the quieting influence of the old gentleman, Jim Webb retold his ghastly story; Mr. Proctor pursing up his little round mouth, nodding encouragingly and now and then helping him out with a word or a question. Then he took complete command of the case. “Someone must go to Frattenbury at once and tell the police, and bring a doctor.” “There’s the young man what’s lodging with me—Mr. Grayson,” exclaimed the landlady. “He’s just ridin’ his bicycle into Frattenbury.” “He’s gone,” said Webb. “I seen him go just as I was gettin’ aboard.” “Gone!” cried Mrs. Yates, “and never said good-bye to me?” “What,” said Mr. Proctor, “is he leaving for good?” “Yes, sir. All of a sudden like. Came down an hour earlier for his breakfast and asked for his bill. I couldn’t make it out.” “Well, well,” replied Mr. Proctor. “Time enough to talk about him later. My young great-nephew is staying with me, and he’s got a bicycle. I’ll send him into Frattenbury at once. He’s a sharp lad. Phil,” he cried, turning to the house, “Phil, come here at once. Look sharp.” A bright-looking boy of about fifteen came running up. Mr. Proctor gave him hasty instructions. “Ride as hard as you can,” he said. “Righto, uncle. I’ll do it in ten minutes.” “Good boy. Now, my man are you quite certain your master is dead?” “Yes, sir—there ain’t no doubt about it.” “Um—all the same, I’ll go and have a look. You can pull me out.” Mrs. Yates waited on the shore till he returned, shaking his head. “There’s no doubt about it, I’m afraid. We can’t do any more. I haven’t moved anything. Best let the police find things just as they are. You two come into my house and have something. You’re both scared, that’s what you are.”