Half an hour later the hermit beached his boat, fastened it and proceeded to his quarters. He was plunged in thought and observed nothing till he stumbled against the fisherman’s body.
“Some drunken fellow probably,” he said to himself.
He lit a match, and, bending over, was horror-stricken to see the fixed features and the blood upon the garments of the unfortunate fisherman.
“There has been murder here! Who can it be?” he exclaimed.
He lit another match and took a closer look.
“As I live, it is Trafton, Robert’s uncle!” he cried. “What mystery is here? How did the unhappy man come to his death?”
He was not long left to wonder alone, for Robert, as was not unusual with him, had been taking an evening stroll on the beach, and, seeing his employer, came up to speak to him.
“Good evening, sir,” he said, as yet innocent of the sad knowledge which was soon to be his. “Is anything the matter?”
“Robert,” said the hermit solemnly, “prepare yourself for a terrible surprise. A man has been killed and that man is——”
“My uncle!” exclaimed our hero in dismay.