"His purse, watch, jewelry, even the things he purchased at Ilfracombe, are untouched. Besides, we found him lying, his foot still entangled in the stirrup, as you have heard."
"Humph!" said the doctor, still at work with restoratives. "Well, he must have fallen on the back of his head; but"—he looked puzzled and frowned thoughtfully—"but it's very strange. If I hadn't known what you have just told me, I should say that he had been struck, and that if he should die, the coroner's verdict would have to be 'Willful murder!'"
Austin Ambrose's lips twitched, but he shook his head and sighed.
"Thank Heaven that I have no such suspicion—it would be too dreadful! No, my poor friend was thrown and dragged by the frightened horse. It is, alas! too common an accident."
"Yes, yes, just so," said the doctor. "It's a pity, a thousand pities, for he is a splendid fellow," and he looked with sad admiration on the stalwart form. "What is his name?"
Austin Ambrose hesitated a moment.
"His name is Stanley. He is a very dear friend of mine," he added, "and only recently married."
The old doctor started.
"You don't mean to say that he's the husband of the unfortunate young lady who was drowned off Long Rock this morning?"