Just at this time it happened that Henry Melville and Fred Wilson were away together on a walking tour round the Cornish coast. Like most people, they were interested in the case; and one morning, while at breakfast at a little inn, they learnt that the absconding men had been tracked to that very neighbourhood, and that a strong cordon of police had been drawn round the district, making an escape very improbable. In fact, an inspector and a constable came into the inn to make some inquiries, and exchanged civilities with the two members of the Puzzle Club. A few references to some of the leading London detectives, and the production of a confidential letter Melville happened to have in his pocket from one of them, soon established complete confidence, and the inspector opened out.
He said that he had just been to examine a very important clue a quarter of a mile from there, and expressed the opinion that Messrs. Lamson and Marsh would never again be found alive. At the suggestion of Melville the four men walked along the road together.
"There is our stile in the distance," said the inspector. "This constable found beside it the pocket-book that I have shown you, containing the name of Marsh and some memoranda in his handwriting. It had evidently been dropped by accident. On looking over the stone stile he noticed the footprints of two men—which I have already proved from particulars previously supplied to the police to be those of the men we want—and I am sure you will agree that they point to only one possible conclusion."
Arrived at the spot, they left the hard road and got over the stile. The footprints of the two men were here very clearly impressed in the thin but soft soil, and they all took care not to trample on the tracks. They followed the prints closely, and found that they led straight to the edge of a cliff forming a sheer precipice, almost perpendicular, at the foot of which the sea, some two hundred feet below, was breaking among the boulders.
"Here, gentlemen, you see," said the inspector, "that the footprints lead straight to the edge of the cliff, where there is a good deal of trampling about, and there end. The soil has nowhere been disturbed for yards around, except by the footprints that you see. The conclusion is obvious."
"That, knowing they were unable to escape capture, they decided not to be taken alive, and threw themselves over the cliff?" asked Wilson.
"Exactly. Look to the right and the left, and you will find no footprints or other marks anywhere. Go round there to the left, and you will be satisfied that the most experienced mountaineer that ever lived could not make a descent, or even anywhere get over the edge of the cliff. There is no ledge or foothold within fifty feet."
"Utterly impossible," said Melville, after an inspection. "What do you propose to do?"
"I am going straight back to communicate the discovery to headquarters. We shall withdraw the cordon and search the coast for the dead bodies."