About half-past ten we four men walked down the avenue into the village, where we found the constable with two other officers in plain clothes. Great consternation had, of course, been created by the startling news, and the whole village seemed to be gossiping at the doors, and forming wild theories concerning the death of the unfortunate unknown. After making inquiries of the constables, and hearing details of which I, of course, was already aware, Scarcliff asked leave to view the body. "Certainly, m'lord," was Booth's prompt reply, and we moved off together. My great fear was that the village constable should remark upon my previous visit to him, therefore I walked with him, keeping him a considerable distance behind the others as we went up the street. "The superintendent is not here now?" I remarked casually, in order that he should recall our meeting up in the wood while we were alone, and not before my friends. "No, sir. The guv'nor went back to Chichester about an hour ago," was his answer, and a few minutes later we turned into a farmyard, where in a barn, the door of which was unlocked by one of the men, we saw the body lying face upwards upon a plank on trestles. Booth drew the handkerchief from the dead face that seemed to stare at us so grimly in the semi-darkness of the barn, and from my companions escaped exclamations of surprise and horror. "Awful!" gasped the young viscount--who was known as "The Scrambler" to his intimates--a name given to him at Eton; "I wonder who murdered him?" "I wonder!" echoed Ellice Winsloe in a hard, hushed voice. His strange tone attracted me, and my eyes fell upon his countenance. It had, I was amazed to see, blanched in an instant, and was as white as that of the dead man himself. The sudden impression produced upon the others was such that they failed to notice the change in Ellice. I, however, saw it distinctly. I was confident of one thing--that he had identified the victim. Yet he said nothing beyond agreeing with his companions that a dastardly crime had been committed, and expressing a hope that the assassin would be arrested. "He's a stranger," declared Scarcliff. "Yes--an entire stranger," said Winsloe, emphatically, and at the same time he bent forward to get a better view of the lifeless countenance. Standing behind, I watched him closely. The sight of the body had produced a remarkable change in him. His face was wild and terrified, and I saw that his lips trembled. Nevertheless he braced himself up with a great effort, and said,-- "Then it's a complete mystery. He was found by Harris, the keeper, last night?" "Yes, sir," answered Booth. "He'd been dead then some hours. Dr Richards says it's murder. He's goin' to make the post-mortem this afternoon." "Has the revolver been found?" he asked. "No, sir. We've been searching all the morning, but can find nothing." "And what was in his pockets?" inquired Winsloe, his anxiety well disguised. "Nothing."