"But Edward Craig is a young man—while Gregory must be nearly seventy!" I exclaimed, staring at Dr. Sladen in blank amazement.
"Exactly. I attended Mr. Gregory a month ago for influenza. But I tell you the body lying yonder is that of young Craig!" declared my friend. Then he added: "There is something very extraordinary about the whole affair, for Craig was made up to exactly resemble his uncle."
"And because of it was apparently done to death, eh?"
"That is certainly my theory."
"Amazing," I exclaimed. "This increases the mystery very considerably." Then, gazing around, I saw that the two doctors, who had assisted Sladen in his examination, were talking aside eagerly with the detective, while Mr. Day, a short thick-set man, with his white-covered cap removed in the presence of the dead, had joined the party.
Cromer is a "war-station," and Mr. Day was a well-known figure in the place, a fine active type of the British sailor, who had seen many years afloat, and now, with his "sea-time" put in, was an expert signal-man ashore. He noticed me and saluted.
"Look," exclaimed Dr. Sladen, taking me across to a bench against the side of the life-boat shed. "What do you think of these?" and he took up a white wig and a long white beard.
I examined them. Then slowly replied, "There is much, very much more, in this affair than any of us can at present see."
"Certainly. Why should the young man go forth at night, under cover of darkness, made up to exactly resemble the old one?"
"To meet somebody in secret, no doubt; and that somebody killed him," I said.