“My God! Come quick!”
It was the fisherman on the other side of the oak patch. They ran around and found him bending over a body almost hidden in the edge of the thicket, where the scrub was low.
“That’s Mr. Ely!” he cried. “He’s been murdered!”
The head was crushed in as by a terrific blow. Near the right shoulder the arm-bone protruded from the flesh. Colton lifted the corpse, and there through the breast was the same kind of gash that had slain Petersen.
“It’s that cursed juggler,” said Haynes bitterly. “Why did we let him get away?”
“This man has been dead for several hours,” said the young doctor in a low tone.
“As long ago as ten o’clock last night?” asked Haynes.
“Very probably.”
“What killed him; the crashing of the skull or the stab-wound?”
“Whichever came first.”