once, however, to the fear lest Robinson and his note-book were already
busy at the post office. Without another word, he hurried away by the
side-path through the evergreens, leaving Bates staring after him, and,
with more whisker-pulling, examining the rope and staple, which, by the
policeman's order, were not to be disturbed.

Grant reached the highroad just as Robinson and the men with the
stretcher were crossing a stone bridge spanning the river about a hundred
yards below The Hollies. A slight, youthful, and eminently attractive
female figure, walking swiftly in the opposite direction, came in sight
at the same time, and Grant almost groaned aloud when the newcomer stood
stock still and looked at the mournful procession. He, be it remembered,
was somewhat of an idealist and a poet; it grieved his spirit that those
two women, the quick and the dead, should meet on the bridge. He took it
as a portent, almost a menace, he knew not of what. He might have
foreseen that unhappy eventuality, and prevented it, but his brain
refused to work clearly that morning. A terrible and bizarre crime had
bemused his faculties. He seemed to be in a state of waking nightmare.

He was stung into impetuous action by seeing the policeman halt and
exchange some words with the girl. He began to run, with the quite
definite if equally mad intent of punching Robinson into reasonable
behavior. He was saved from an act of unmitigated folly by the girl
herself. She caught sight of him, apparently broke off her talk with the
policeman abruptly, and, in her turn, took to her heels.

Thus, on that strip of sun-baked road, with its easy gradient to the
crown of the bridge, there was the curious spectacle offered by two men
jogging along with a corpse on a stretcher, a young man and a young
woman running towards each other, and a discomfited representative of