A Silent Witness | Page 4

though sodden with the wet, took but
the faintest impressions of the feet that trod it, and, though the sergeant
and the two constables threw the combined light of their lanterns on the
ground, we were only able to make out very faintly the occasional
traces of our own footsteps.
We scrutinized the break in the fence and the earth around with the
utmost minuteness, but could detect no sign of anyone having passed
through. The short turf of the meadow, on which I had seen sheep
grazing in the daytime, was not calculated to yield traces of anyone
passing over it, and no traces of any kind were discoverable. When we
had searched the meadow thoroughly and without result, we came back
into the lane and followed its devious course to the "kissing-gate" at the
Hampstead Lane entrance. And still there was no sign of anything
unusual. True, there were obscure foot-prints in the soft gravel by the
turnstile, but they told us nothing; we could not even be sure that they
had not been made by ourselves on our previous visit. In short, the net
result of our investigations was that the body had vanished and left no
trace. "It's a very extraordinary affair," said the inspector, in a tone of
deep discontent, as we walked back. "The body of a full-grown man
isn't the sort of thing you can put in your pocket and stroll off with
without being noticed, even at midnight. Are you perfectly sure the
man was really dead and not in a faint?"
"I feel no doubt whatever that he was dead," I replied.
"With all respect to you, sir," said the sergeant, "I think you must be
mistaken. I think the man must have been in a dead faint, and after you
came away, the rain must have revived him so that he was able to get
up and walk away."
"I don't think so," said I, though with less conviction; for, after all, it
was not absolutely impossible that I should have been mistaken, since I

had discovered no mortal injury, and the sergeant's suggestion was an
eminently reasonable one.
"What sized man was he?" the inspector asked. "That I couldn't say," I
answered. "It is not easy to judge the height of a man when he is lying
down and the light was excessively dim. But I should say he was not a
tall man and rather slight in build."
"Could you give us any description of him?"
"He was an elderly man, about sixty, I should think, and he appeared to
be a clergyman or a priest, for he wore a Roman collar with a narrow,
dark stripe up the front. He was clean shaven, and, I think, wore a
clerical suit of black. A tall hat was lying on the ground close by and a
walking-stick which looked like a malacca, but I couldn't see it very
well as he had fallen on it and most of it was hidden."
"And you saw all this by the light of one wax match," said the inspector.
"You made pretty good use of your eyes, sir."
"A man isn't much use in my profession if he doesn't," I replied, rather
stiffly.
"No, that's true," the inspector agreed. "Well, I must ask you to give us
the full particulars at the station, and we shall see if anything fresh
turns up. I'm sorry to keep you hanging about in the wet, but it can't be
helped."
"Of course it can't," said I, and we trudged on in silence until we
reached the station, which looked quite cheerful and homelike despite
the grim blue lamp above the doorway. "Well, Doctor," said the
inspector, when he had read over my statement and I had affixed my
signature, "if anything turns up, you'll hear from us. But I doubt if we
shall hear anything more of this. Dead or alive, the man seems to have
vanished completely. Perhaps the sergeant's right after all, and your
dead man is at this moment comfortably tucked up in bed. Good-night,
Doctor, and thank you for all the trouble you have taken."

By the time that I reached my lodgings I was tired out and miserably
cold; so cold that I was fain to brew myself a jorum of hot grog in my
shaving pot. As a natural result, I fell fast asleep as soon as I got to bed
and slept on until the autumn sunshine poured in through the slats of
the Venetian blind.
CHAPTER II
THE FINDING OF THE RELIQUARY
I AWOKE on the following morning to a dim consciousness of
something unusual, and, as my wits returned with the rapidity that is
natural to the young and healthy, the surprising events of the previous
night reconstituted