In the mean time, Grimleigh was in a great state of excitement. It was rarely that a murder occurred in their quiet neighbourhood, and this fact, coupled with their intimate knowledge of the victim, roused their interest in an extraordinary degree. The inquest was to take place in the afternoon, at "The Fisherman's Rest"--a hostel near the shed in which the body had been laid out. The town was on tiptoe of excitement. Amongst the witnesses whom Chard intended to call was Mr. Johnson; and he sent up the astute Slade to serve the minister with a subp[oe]na. Jeremiah was delighted at this chance, which, as likely as not, would bring him into the study of the man he suspected. He resolved to use his eyes sharply. Fortune often acts generously when she acts at all, and as Slade was climbing the hill, he met Korah Brand. This was the very man he wanted to see, and he at once saluted him. "What is it?" asked Brand, impatiently. He looked older than usual, and a trifle pale. It was evident that the loss of Tera had affected him in an unusual degree, as in truth it had; for without Tera, Brand did not care to return to Koiau. If he did, it would be at the risk of his life; for, on learning of his daughter's death, Buli would as likely as not sacrifice the luckless missionary on the altar of his god. It was therefore with no very great good will that he submitted to be stopped by this raw-boned Goliath. "Who are you?" asked Korah, with a growl. "Jeremiah Slade," replied the officer. "I am a police-constable in this town. I am on my way to serve Mr. Johnson with a subp[oe]na." "Oh, the shame, the shame that has fallen on Bethgamul!" said Brand, in tones of deep grief. "Our dear sister is taken, and our pastor has to bow down in the temple of Rimmon!" "He's got to appear at the inquest, if that's what you mean, sir; but this subp[oe]na"--Slade looked round anxiously, then approached his mouth to the missionary's ear, "why shouldn't it be a warrant?" Brand turned a shade paler, and fixed a keen eye on Slade, whose meaning he at once seized. "Do you know any reason why it should be a warrant?" he asked sharply. "I have my own idea, sir." "What is your idea?" Slade took time to consider, and pulled his red moustache. "See here, Mr. Brand," he said softly, "do you want disgrace to fall on that chapel of yours?" "Why, no. I would do anything to avert that." "Well then, sir, don't ask me questions about your parson." The missionary bent his shaggy brows on the man, and stroked his beard. "Do you suspect Mr. Johnson?" "Yes, I do; but nobody else does, except--yourself." "I!" Brand started back in dismay. "'Get thee behind me, Satan!' Why should I suspect him?" Jeremiah tapped him on the chest. "If you hold your tongue, I can hold mine," said he, and turned away. In a moment Brand was after him, clutching his arm. "Man, what do you mean?" "Gammon! You know. Johnson killed that girl."