"Pleasure, I believe. He was down here for a holiday, though it's a good
way past the season; but, then, he had a friend living here, and that
makes a difference. Mr. Draper up at the Poplars was an old friend of
his, I understand. I am going to call on him now."
We walked on along the footpath that led towards the village, but had
only proceeded two or three hundred yards when a loud hail drew our
attention to a man running across a field towards us from the direction
of the cliff.
"Why, here is Mr. Draper himself," exclaimed the sergeant, stopping
short and waving his hand. "I expect he has heard the news already."
Thorndyke and I also halted, and with some curiosity watched the
approach of this new party to the tragedy. As the stranger drew near we
saw that he was a tall, athletic-looking man of about forty, dressed in
a Norfolk knickerbocker suit, and having the appearance of an ordinary
country gentleman, excepting that he carried in his hand, in place of a
walking-stick, the staff of a butterfly-net, the folding ring and bag of
which partly projected from his pocket.
"Is it true, Sergeant?" he exclaimed as he came up to us, panting from
his exertions.
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