Ralph, with an effort, subdued his feelings, and replied gratefully—
"You are very kind to me, sir. Let us do as you suggest. Will you take me to the place? I do not know anything of the country here, of course."
"I will go with you, and we will have this man accompany us, and show us exactly where he found this hat. Come, we will start at once."
Stow Wood was about a mile and a half from the inn, a rather dismal-looking place, where the grass grew long and dank, and where stoats and rats found a safe retreat from which to sally forth at night upon their marauding expeditions; and the grimmest, most lonely spot was around the deep pool, known locally as the Black Mere.
A dark, motionless pool it was; in some parts covered with green weed, surrounded by coarse grass.
Local superstition said that it was haunted, and though sensible people laughed at that, still the appearance of the spot was enough to give rise to such a legend.
"I found the hat just here, sir," said the man, bending down and pointing to a clump of blind-nettle. "You can see where it was lying, sir."
Mr. St. Clive and Ralph stopped and examined the place. It was clear that something resembling a struggle had taken place here, for the tall grass was trampled and beaten flat, and, in some places, the earth itself had been cut up, as though by the heels of boots. Mr. St. Clive felt very grave—if ever anything seemed to tell of a tragedy, this did—and he said to Ralph—
"My poor boy, I must own that there seems every appearance of foul play here. We shall have to see the police. You are quite sure that your father told you nothing, however unimportant it may seem, which might give us an inkling of where he was going?"