It was clear, by this remark, that my uncle had not forgotten the old country; and I promised to obey his directions.
In a few minutes the bow of the boat touched the shore, and we, by aid of a boat-hook, jumped on the sand. Ordering two of the men to accompany him, and giving directions to the others to keep silence, and on no account to quit the boat, our commander advanced towards the foot of the cliff. We went on some little way without meeting anybody.
“It is very extraordinary,” he observed, in a low voice. “I cannot have mistaken the spot or the hour. It was just here the man Langdon appointed to meet me.” We halted for some minutes and listened attentively, but not a sound was to be heard except the low, soft, and musical lap of the tide as it glided by the shingly beach. Above us was the lofty cliff beetling over our heads, its dark outline well-defined against the brilliant sky.
“Something, I’m afraid, is wrong,” remarked my uncle; “or can the fellow have been imposing on me?”
Having waited for some time in vain, we again advanced. We had not gone many paces when a figure was seen leaning against the cliffs. The person, apparently, from his not moving at our approach, was fast asleep.
“That must be the fellow Langdon,” said my uncle. “Why, what can he be about?” On this he whistled twice, very softly, but there was no answer. We then hurried up to the spot where the figure was observed. It was no optical illusion; there certainly was a person, but he took no notice of our presence. Our two men then went up to him, thinking to awake him; but as they took him by the arms he slipped from their grasp, and fell to the ground. An exclamation of horror made us hurry up to them. It was a corpse we saw. A dark spot on the forehead, from which a stream of blood, rapidly coagulating, oozed forth. His singed hair, and the black marks on one side of his face, showed how the deed had been done. It was evident that he had been shot by a pistol placed close to his head.
“He hasn’t been dead above a quarter of an hour,” observed Stretcher, one of the men, feeling his heart. “He is still warm, sir.”
“Then his murderers cannot be far off,” said my uncle. “I’ll land our people, and we will hunt them down. The poor wretch could scarcely expect any other fate were he discovered.”
“What—do you know the man, sir?” I asked. “Yes, he is the informer, Langdon; the very man who was to have conducted us to Myers’ retreat,” was the answer.
“Here, sir, is a bit of card tied round the man’s neck, and close to him was this pistol and handkerchief,” said Tomkins, who had placed the body on the sands, bringing him the articles.