Five minutes later, East and I set out across the moor, leaving Miss
Baird at the cottage. By reason of the lonely situation, and the fact
that the nearest house, The Warrens, was fully a mile and a half
away, no other arrangement was possible, since delay could not be
entertained.
East had managed to glean some few important facts. Sir Jeffrey, whose
museum at The Warrens was justly celebrated, had been to London that day
to attend an auction at Sotheby's. His Greek secretary, Mr. Damopolon,
and his daughter had accompanied him. Returning by train to Stanby, the
nearest station, Miss Baird had called upon friends in the village (Mr.
Damopolon had remained in London on business), and Sir Jeffrey had set
out in the dusk to walk the two miles to The Warrens; for the car was
undergoing repairs.
Pursuing the same path later in the evening, the girl had come upon the
body of her father in the dramatically dreadful manner already related.
He had no enemies, she declared, or none known to her. She did not
believe that her father was carrying a large sum of money, nor--although
she had scarcely trusted herself to look at him--did she believe that
robbery had been the motive of the crime.
Sir Jeffrey had been carrying a large parcel containing one of his
purchases, and I remembered, as we silently pursued our way to the scene
of the murder, how East's keen eyes had seemed to dance with excitement
when Miss Baird, in reply to a question, had told us what this parcel
contained. It was a large figure, in blue porcelain, of a sacred ape,
and was of Burmese or Chinese origin; she was uncertain which.
Her father had apparently attached great importance to this strange
purchase, and had elected to bear it home in person rather than to trust
it to railway transport.
"Did you notice if this parcel was there," East had inquired eagerly,
"when you discovered him?"
Miss Baird had shaken her head in reply.
And now we were come to Black Gap, a weird feature in a weird landscape.
This was a great hole in the moor, having high clay banks upon one side
descending sheer to the tarn, and upon the other being flanked by low,
marshy ground about a small coppice. The road from Stanby to The Warrens
passed close by the coppice on the south-east.
Regarding this place opinions differed. By some it was supposed to be a
natural formation, but it was locally believed to mark the site of an
abandoned mine, possibly Roman. Its depth was unknown, and the legend
of the coach which lay at the bottom, and which could be seen under
certain favourable conditions, has found a place in all the guide-books
to that picturesque and wild district.
Whatever its origin, Black Gap was a weird and gloomy spot as one
approached and saw through the trees the gleam of the moonlight on
its mystic waters. And here, passing a slight southerly bend in the
track--for it was no more--we came upon Sir Jeffrey.
He lay huddled in a grotesque and unnatural attitude. His right hand was
tightly clenched, whilst with his left he clutched a tuft of rank grass.
Strangely enough, his soft hat was still upon his head. His tweed suit,
soft collar and, tie all bore evidence of the fierce struggle which the
old baronet had put up for his life. A quantity of torn brown paper lay
scattered near the body.
I dropped on my knees and made a rapid examination, East directing the
ray of a pocket-lamp upon the poor victim.
"Well?" rapped my friend.
"He was struck over the head by some heavy weapon," I said slowly,
"and perhaps partly stunned. His hat protected him to a degree, and
he tackled his assailant. Death was actually due, I should say, to
strangulation. His throat is very much bruised."
East made no reply. Glancing up from my gruesome task, I observed that
he was looking at a faint track, which, commencing amid the confused
marks surrounding the body, led in the direction of the coppice. East's
steely eyes were widely opened.
"In heaven's name, what have we here!" he said.
A kindred amazement to that which held East claimed me, as I studied
more closely the mysterious tracks.
The spot where Sir Jeffrey had fallen was soft ground, whereon the
lightest footstep must have left a clear impression. Indeed, around the
recumbent figure the ground showed a mass of indistinguishable marks.
But proceeding thence, as I have said, in the direction of the
neighbouring coppice, was this faint trail.
"It looks," I said, in a voice hushed with something very like awe, "it
looks like the track of ... _a child_!"
"Look again!" snapped East.
I stooped over the first set of marks. Clearly indented, I perceived the
impressions of two small, bare feet, and, eighteen or twenty inches
ahead, those of two small hands. I experienced a sudden chill; my blood
seemed momentarily to run coldly in my veins, and I longed to depart
from the shadow of the trees, from the neighbourhood of the Black Gap,
and from the neighbourhood of the man who had died there. For it seemed
to me that a barefooted infant had recently crawled from the side of the
dead man into the coppice overhanging the tarn.
Looking up, I found East's steely eyes set upon me strangely.
"Well!" said he, "do you not miss something that you anticipated
finding?"