"There are few things," he said with a sarcastic smile, "that are easier to assume than broken English, especially when only uneducated ears are there to hear." "Then you think----" "I don't think," he replied curtly, "I know. I know that Gerald Moville met the Italian on the moor, that he quarrelled with him over Winnie Gooden, that he knocked him down, and that Vissio was killed in the fall. I can see the whole scene as plainly as if I had been there. Can't you see Moville realising that he had killed the man?--that inevitably suspicion would fall on him? Topcoat had seen him, witnesses had seen his car in the road, he was known to be the Italian's rival in Winnie's affections! Already he could feel the hangman's rope round his neck. But we must look on Gerald Moville as a man of resource, a man, above all, up to many tricks for drawing a red herring across the trail of his own delinquencies. I will spare you the details of what I can see in my own mind as having happened after Moville had realised that Vissio was dead: the stripping of the body, the exchange of clothes down to the vest and shirt, the mutilation of the corpse with the victim's own knife, and the dragging of the body to a distant 'gruff,' where it must inevitably remain hidden for days, until advanced decomposition had set in to efface all identification marks. Fear, no doubt, lent ingenuity and strength to the miscreant; and, as a matter of fact, Gerald Moville is one of the few criminals who committed no appreciable blunder when he set to work to obliterate all traces of his crime; he left the knife with its tell-tale stains on the spot, and that knife was identified as the property of the Italian, and the head, which alone might have betrayed him, even if the body were not found for weeks, he took away with him to bury somewhere far away--goodness only knows where, but somewhere between Yorkshire and Scotland.