The porter and the locksmith turned the body over.
Though the features had partially become decomposed, the face was still recognisable on close inspection.
"It's a stranger, I think, leastways in the Inn," said the porter.
Eversleigh gazed at the dead face, peering into it. Suddenly he trembled as with ague, while he vainly struggled to speak.
Gilbert, too, had been closely scrutinizing the dead face, and he thought that he recognized it. Looking at his father and seeing his evident emotion, he felt certain.
"It is Morris Thornton!" said he, in a hoarse unnatural voice.
"Morris Thornton!" echoed Francis Eversleigh, and fell in a heap across the body of his old friend.
CHAPTER XIII
"Morris Thornton!"