A Silent Witness | Page 7

have to be rather particular. Perhaps you would like me to
show you the way out on to the Heath."
I accepted his offer with many thanks for his courteous method of
ejecting a trespasser, and we walked together through the beautiful
woodland until the path terminated at a rustic turnstile. "That will be
your way, sir," he said, as he let me out, indicating a track that led
down to the Vale of Health.
I thanked him once more and then asked: "Is that a private house or
does it belong to your estate?" I pointed to a small house or large
cottage that stood within a fenced enclosure not far from the edge of the
wood.
"That, sir," he replied, "was formerly a keeper's lodge. It is now let for
a short term to an artist gentleman who is making some pictures of the
Heath, but I expect it will be pulled down before long, as there is some
talk of the County Council taking over that piece of land to add to the
public grounds. Good-morning, sir," and the keeper, with a parting
salute, turned back into the wood.
As I took my way homeward by the Highgate Ponds I meditated on the
relation of my new discoveries to the mystery of the preceding night. It
was a strange affair, and sinister withal.
That the tracks led from the lane to the wood and not from the wood to
the lane, I felt firmly convinced; and equally so that the body of the
unknown priest or clergyman had undoubtedly been spirited away. But
whither had it been carried? Presumably to some sequestered spot in
the wood. And what better hiding-place could be found? There, buried
in the soft leaf-mould, it might lie undisturbed for centuries, covered

only the deeper as each succeeding autumn shed its russet burden on
the unknown grave.
And what, I wondered, was the connection between this mysterious
tragedy and the queer little object that I had picked up? Perhaps there
was none. Its presence at that particular spot might be nothing but a
coincidence. I took it from my handkerchief and examined it afresh. It
was a very curious object. As to its use or meaning, I could only form
vague surmises. Perhaps it was some kind of locket, enclosing a wisp
of hair; the hair perhaps of some dead child or wife or husband or even
lover. It was impossible to say. Of course, this question could be settled
by taking it to pieces, but I was loth to injure the pretty little bauble;
besides it was not mine. In fact, I felt that I ought to notify publicly that
I had found it, though the circumstances did not make this very
advisable. But if it had any connection with the tragedy, what was the
nature of that connection? Had it dropped from the dead man or from
the murderer--as I assumed the other man to be? Either was equally
possible, though the two possibilities had very different values.
Then the question arose as to what course I should pursue. Clearly it
would be my duty to inform the police of the mark on the fence and the
tracks through the grass. But should I hand over the mysterious trinket
to them? It seemed the correct thing to do, and yet there might after all
be no connection between it and the crime. In the end I left the matter
to be decided by the attitude of the police themselves.
I called at the station on my way home and furnished the inspector with
an account of my new discoveries; of which he made a careful note,
assuring me that the affair should be looked into. But his manner
expressed frank disbelief, and was even a trifle hostile; and his
emphatic request that I would abstain from mentioning the matter to
anyone left me in no doubt that he regarded both my communications
as wild delusions if not as a deliberate hoax. Consequently, though I
frequently reproached myself afterwards with the omission, I said
nothing about the trinket, and when I left the station I carried it in my
pocket.
No communication on the subject of this mysterious affair ever reached

me from the police. That they did actually make some perfunctory
investigations, I learned later, as will appear in this narrative. But they
gave no publicity to the affair and they sought no further information
from me. For my own part, I could, naturally, never forget so strange an
experience; but time and the multitudinous interests of my opening life
tended to push it farther into the background of memory, and there it
might have remained for ever had not subsequent events drawn it once
more from ita obscurity.
CHAPTER III
"WHO IS