The Crowned Skull | Page 9

asked. 'We heard a shot, and came back.'

'Bowring's dead,' said a man with a civilised accent. 'Shot!'
'Dead! Shot!' cried Penrith, while Miss Stretton shrieked, and he leaped
down with a horrified face. 'Let me see.'
While he examined the body Anne Stretton, with a white face and
trembling lips, alighted also. Near the body her quick eye caught sight
of an envelope. Picking this up she tore it open.
'It might contain something likely to say who killed him,' she said
shaking; 'perhaps the assassin left it here.'
'What does it say?' asked Penrith, while the quarrymen crowded round
and one struck a match for her to read the letter by.
She read slowly: 'You will be killed before you reach home this
evening!'
There was a dead silence, and all looked at the body. The prophecy had
been fulfilled.
Chapter III
Queer Evidence
The violent death of John Bowring caused, as was natural, an immense
sensation in the district. Not only because crime was comparatively rare
in those sparsely-inhabited parts, but also on account of the position
and great wealth of the victim. The news ran like wildfire through the
countryside, and the local reporters gathered like vultures round the
famous corpse. But the evidence they picked up was scanty, as the
police, ignorant themselves of many things, were reticent. No one knew
why Bowring had been murdered, but there was a grim determination
about the crime which revealed very clearly that the assassin had made
up his mind that the millionaire should not escape. Failing with the
granite rock, he had made certain with the revolver, and therefore must
have had some extremely strong motive to induce him to place, so to
speak, his neck twice in the hangman's noose.

Then came out the fact of the sealed letter. Anne Stretton might have
chattered, or some of the quarrymen to whom she read the single
prophetic line might have told the story, or Miss Sophia Warry, proud
of her powers, might have boasted of her achievement. No one knew
exactly how the rumour got about, but certainly within four-and-twenty
hours there were few people who had not heard of the
strangely-fulfilled prophecy, and this introduction of a psychic element
gave the case a weird interest, which removed it from the category of
commonplace crime.
The body was taken by the quarrymen to Trevick Grange, which stood
a couple of miles from the scene of death, amongst the wild Cornish
moors. It was a rambling, two-storey house of rough grey stone, roofed
with bluish slates, and covered with ivy and lichen, as though it were
indeed natural to the soil. The mansion amidst its circle of wind-clipt
trees, and fronting the changeful waters of the Atlantic, looked
picturesque, but uncommonly grim; as autochthonic as the early British
dwellings further up the moorlands. For centuries the Trevicks had
dwelt there, and not always in the most reputable way; but pecuniary
necessities had forced the present baronet to let the family seat to John
Bowring, and retire to the more cheerful Dower House at St. Ewalds.
So the body of the millionaire, who in life had lorded it under the
ancient roof, was placed in the guest chamber, and the house was given
over to a mourning atmosphere, which suited its sinister looks.
Of course, Sir Hannibal was greatly shocked. He and the dead man had
not been very good friends, although they had passed through many
adventures in the waste lands of South Africa. All the same, it was
terrible to think that a man full of life and health and ambitious
schemes should so suddenly be removed from the physical sphere, and
in so horrible a manner. Also, Sir Hannibal recognised that he had lost
a good tenant. No one would pay him so excellent a rent; and,
moreover, the solitary situation of Trevick Grange rendered it
somewhat difficult to let, even at a moderate price. Sir Hannibal, being
intensely selfish, was sorry for John Bowring, but he was more sorry
for himself, and grumbled greatly as he drove out to the inquest with
Dericka and Miss Warry. The last-named lady had come by particular

request, as the coroner wished to know how she has so accurately
foretold the death of the millionaire; and Dericka accompanied her old
governess to support her in the ordeal. Not that Miss Warry anticipated
trouble when being examined, for she was rather glad to display her
cleverness; but she felt that Dericka would be a comfort to her at so
proud a moment.
And along the road beside them streamed carts and carriages and
motor-cars and bicycles of all kinds. Everybody seemed to be going to
the old Grange, being drawn there mostly by morbid curiosity. The
place where the death had happened was