"I, sir?" he exclaimed. "No, sir—nothing!"
"I met him yesterday afternoon on the headlands between this and Alnmouth," I remarked.
"I was with him for a while at the Mariner's Joy. He pulled out a big handful of gold there, to pay for his lunch. The landlord warned him against showing so much money. Now, before we do more, I'd like to know if he's been murdered for the sake of robbery. You're doubtless quicker of hand than I am—just slip your hand into that right-hand pocket of his trousers, and see if you feel money there."
He took my meaning on the instant, and bending down, did what I suggested. A smothered exclamation came from him.
"Money?" he said. "His pocket's full o' money!"
"Bring it out," I commanded.
He withdrew his hand; opened it; the palm was full of gold. The light of the morning sun flashed on those coins as if in mockery. We both looked at them—and then at each other with a sudden mutual intelligence.
"Then it wasn't robbery!" I exclaimed. "So—"
He thrust back the gold, and pulling at a thick chain of steel which lay across Quick's waistcoat, drew out a fine watch.
"Gold again, sir!" he said. "And a good 'un, that's never been bought for less than thirty pound. No, it's not been robbery."