“Ain’t seen nothin’ to make you feel bad, have you, Perfessor?” inquired Temporary-Deputy-Sheriff Jarvis with some acerbity.
“Eh? What?” said Kent absently. “Seen anything? Nothing but what’s there for any one to see.”
Following his fixed gaze, the others studied the face of the cliff; all but Sailor Smith. He blinked near-sightedly at the corpse.
“Say,” said he presently, “what’s them queer little marks on the neck, under the ear?”
Back came Kent’s eyes. “Those?” he said smiling. “Why, those are, one might suppose, such indentations as would be made in flesh by forcing a jewel setting violently against it, by a blow or strong impact.”
“Then you think it was the wom—” began the old seaman when several voices broke in:
“There goes Len now!”
The sheriff’s heavy figure appeared on the brow of the cliff, moving toward the village.
“Who is it with him?” inquired Kent.
“Gansett Jim,” answered Jarvis.