he'd crash right through it. Now of course, when we examined the Keep on Monday morning, it never struck us that there might be something down here—if you go up the turret stairs to the top and look down on this mass of green stuff from the very top, you'll see that it looks undisturbed; there's scarcely anything to show that he fell through it, from up there. But—he did!"
"Whose notion was it that he might be found here?" asked Copplestone.
"Chatfield's," replied the Squire. "Chatfield's. He and I were up at the top there, and he suddenly suggested that Oliver might have fallen from the parapet and be lying embedded in that mass of green stuff beneath. We didn't know then—even Chatfield didn't know—that there was this empty space beneath the green stuff. But when we came to go into it, we found there was, so we had that archway cleared of all the stone and rubbish and of course we found him."
"The body'll have to be removed, sir," whispered the police-sergeant. "It'll have to be taken down to the inn, to wait the inquest.
Marston Greyle started.
"Inquest!" he said. "Oh!—will that have to be held? I suppose so—yes. But we'd better wait until the doctor comes, hadn't we? I want him———"
The doctor came into the gloomy vault at that moment, escorted by Chatfield, who, however, immediately retired. He was an elderly, old-fashioned somewhat fussy-mannered person, who evidently attached
