Her uncle had turned round. They had reached the end of the dyke. A little grass-grown footpath led them now to the side of the harbor, beyond which lay the village.
"Mr. Deane," he said,—"Mr. Deane, I should like to show you the village schoolroom."
Deane nodded. "I should be very glad," he said.
Mr. Sarsby turned to his niece. "Ruby," he said, "go home and tell your aunt where we are. I shall be home in half-an-hour,—perhaps five-and-twenty minutes. If there is any message for me from the golf club, the boy can wait till I return. This way, Mr. Deane,—this way."
The girl turned away with a little grimace, and waved her hand to Deane as she disappeared. The two men climbed the village street side by side.
CHAPTER XIV
AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR
Mr. Sarsby, like most men of his stamp, when brought in touch with larger things than his world knew of, was nervous and helpless. He seemed to throw the whole weight of further action upon this stranger at whose instigation he had commenced the search.
The reading-room was empty except for these two men. Deane was sitting in the little bow window, looking down with apparent interest into the narrow, tortuous street. Sarsby, with a pile of torn and crumpled newspapers in front of him, was still standing, leaning over the long table in the centre of the room. His search was finished. He had no doubt whatever in his mind. The murdered man was indeed Ruby's uncle!