"Quite so," said the Coroner smoothly; "but that man escaped, and was never discovered. If it is the same man--and certainly, Mrs. Snow, it seems as though your surmise is right--he may escape again. Mr. Alpenny apparently was about to start on his journey, after leaving the note for Miss Hedge, and probably was turning over some necessary papers, when he was struck down. Regarding the locked door, I can offer no explanation: nor have the police been able to find this masked man, who assuredly must be the assassin. The case is full of mystery, and I do not see what can be done, save that the jury should return an open verdict." He made a few more observations, but what he said was not very much to the point. The jury--what else could be done?--returned a verdict of murder against a person or persons unknown, with an observation to the effect that the police should hunt down the man with the black patch. This last remark was rather irregular; but, to say the truth, everyone was so puzzled over the aspect of the case that no one had any very clear idea of what to say or do. However, the verdict--such as it was--resolved itself into the terms above stated, and the jury betook themselves severally to their homes, there to puzzle over the matter. Beatrice went back to The Camp with Durban, and both felt glad that the corpse was still left in an outhouse of the hotel. Neither wished that gruesome relic of mortality to remain in The Camp. "That is all right, missy," said Durban, when the two were walking along the lane towards The Camp; "master will be buried to-morrow, and we won't think of him any more." "I'll never get the sight of that body out of my head," said Beatrice, with a shudder. "Durban, who could have killed him?" "I cannot say, missy," said the half-caste stolidly; "you heard what evidence I gave." "Yes. But did you speak truly?" "I spoke what I spoke," said Durban sullenly; "the least said, the soonest mended." Beatrice felt a qualm of terror at the memory of the replaced key and the handkerchief in her pocket. "Then you have some idea who killed Mr. Alpenny?" "No, I have not, missy--that is, I cannot lay my finger on the man." "Then it was a man?" "It might have been two men or three, missy. Master had dealings with very strange and dangerous people: I don't wonder he was killed. And," cried the half-caste, stopping to emphasise his words, "if I knew who killed him, I would shake that man's hand." "Durban! Why, in Heaven's name?" "Because--because--missy," he broke off abruptly, "let the past alone, my dear young lady. Mr. Alpenny was a bad man, and came to a deserved end. I did not kill him, you did not kill him, so we had better think no more of him. When he is buried, you will have the money, and then you can marry Mr. Paslow and be happy." "I shall never marry Mr. Paslow--never, never," cried Beatrice bitterly, and lifted a wan face to the mocking blue sky. "But he loves you."