"But from that moment, in spite of strenuous efforts on the part of the police, all traces of the man with the dirty face, who spoke broken English, vanished completely. And what's more, all trace of Mr. Gerald Moville had also vanished. He did not go up to London, and all this while his luggage was at the Carlton Hotel waiting to be claimed. Nor was it ever claimed by him, because about a month after that tragic Wednesday in September the body of Mr. Gerald Moville was found in a 'gruff' or gully about three-quarters of a mile from the Poacher's Leap. When I say that the body was found, I am wrong, for it was only a part of the body, and that, of course, was completely decomposed. The head was missing, and it was never found, in spite of the most strenuous efforts on the part of professional and amateur detectives, and lavish expenditure of money, thought, and trouble on the part of Sir Timothy Moville. It lies buried, I imagine, somewhere on the moor. The clothes, though sodden, were, however, still recognisable, also the unfortunate man's wrist watch which had stopped at five minutes past eleven, his cuff-links, and his signet ring, which had fallen from his fleshless finger and lay beside it in the 'gruff.' "And about seventy yards higher up the gully a search party found a knife of obviously foreign make, which still bore certain stains, which scientific analysis proved to be human blood. That knife was identified by Topcoat as the property of Vissio." §4 The Old Man in the Corner had been silent for a little while, as was his habit when he reached a certain stage of his narrative. At such moments it always seemed as if nothing in the world interested him, except the fashioning of innumerable and complicated knots in a bit of string. It was my business to set him talking again. "Of course, there was an inquest after that," I said casually.