‘The late marquis sold the worked-iron gates to a dealer,’ said the doctor.
At the avenue gates, so steep was the ascent, both men got out and walked.
‘You see the pits come up close to the house,’ said the doctor, as they reached the crest. He pointed to some tall chimneys on the eastern slope, which sank quite gradually to the neighbouring German Ocean, but ended in an abrupt rocky cliff.
‘Is that a fishing village in the cleft of the cliffs? I think I see a red roof,’ said Merton.
‘Ay, that’s Strutherwick, a fishing village,’ replied the doctor.
‘A very easy place, on your theory, for an escape with the body by boat,’ said Merton.
‘Ay, that is just it,’ acquiesced the doctor.
‘But,’ asked Merton, as they reached the level, and saw the old keep black in front of them, ‘what is that rope stretched about the lawn for? It seems to go all round the house, and there are watchers.’ Dark figures with lanterns were visible at intervals, as Merton peered into the gathering gloom. The watchers paced to and fro like sentinels.
The door of the house opened, and a man’s figure stood out against the lamp light within.
‘Is that you, Merton?’ came Logan’s voice from the doorway.