As he reached the darker strata just surrendered by the angry, fading tide, his eye was caught by a patch of scarlet moving down to the sea some distance to his left. “A girl going to bathe,” he thought casually. “She must have warm blood in her to face such a sea on such a day. I hope she knows what she’s about. It’s none too safe a spot.” Presently he saw a man run down to join her, and felt reassured and yet depressed. “To be a dingy old bachelor like myself is the one unanswerable indictment. Ten King’s Councillors could not make it seem excusable.” Then his mind turned to the question of the new post he was determined to secure. He would go up to London as soon as the meeting was over and get an exchange if possible. * * * * * His work kept him busy all the afternoon, and he did not emerge from his office till dusk was falling. “Best figure in England,” he heard the Colonel declaring, as he entered the smoking-room. “I believe she’s engaged to Bob Renton.” “Who’s that?” asked the secretary. “The Grant girl,” said the Colonel, “Sybil Grant.” The secretary felt a tug of horror at his heart. “Is she coming down here?” he asked sharply. “She _is_ here,” replied the Colonel. “If you’d been here ten minutes ago you’d have seen her.” “Well, where is she now?” asked the secretary, seizing his arm. “Where is this girl?” he cried, his voice rising. “Hullo, young feller, what’s all the excitement? I imagine she’s about at the seventeenth green; she’s staying with the Bartletts at the Old Cottage, and is walking back that way.” At that moment a bell seemed to toll once shatteringly in the Secretary’s ears. He put his hands to his head, and without a word started running frantically down the seventeenth fairway. Suddenly there sprang down the wind a terrible cry of terror, followed by a desperate and prolonged scream. Mr. Baxter stopped dead and shuddered. He heard shouts behind him and the patter of others running. He tottered on. Somebody--several people--passed him; as he reeled into the wood he could see the fire-fly gleam of electric torches, and as he neared them he could see they were focussed on some object on the ground. It was white, and someone was kneeling over it. When he saw what it was he was suddenly and violently sick. It was flung down the bank, it was naked, its head was lolling hideously. It was sprawling, one knee flung high, its face--but someone covered that face with his coat and told Mr. Baxter to go for the doctor. And that terrible Death stench kept him company. * * * * * The inquest was fixed for the following Monday, and Mr. Baxter was told that his testimony would be required.