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Updated: May 16, 2025
"There's nothing more hateful to me than a murder without the body," declared Damarell, on the way down. "You don't even know if you're on firm ground to start with, and every step you take must hang upon a fact that you can't verify except by circumstantial evidence. Every step may in reality be a false one and the nearer you appear to be to the truth, the farther you may be going away from it.
Inspector Damarell stopped to rest and flung himself panting on the close sward at the crown of the cliff. "What do you think?" he asked Brendon; and the other having made a careful examination of the ground around them and scanned the peaks and ledges beneath, answered: "He never came here at any rate not until he had disposed of the body. It's the broken ground under the plateau we must search.
"And who," I asked, "was the fellow who brought her in to lunch a relative or a lover?" "Oh, no, no relation and certainly not a lover. I doubt if she would have him if he wanted her, in spite of his position." "I don't wonder at that a perfect clown! And who is he?" "Oh, didn't you know! Sir Ranulph Damarell." "Good Lord!" I gasped. "That your great man lord of the manor and what not!
There was nothing but the trampled sand, the partially eaten store of food, the lamp on its stone bracket, the black blot of blood, and the shallow trench left by some rounded object that had been dragged to the steps. The tide was down but the little beach only displayed the usual debris at high-water mark. Inspector Damarell returned to the steam launch and bade the skipper go back to Dartmouth.
And all anybody but ourselves will believe is that you've gone back to Dartmouth, and won't be here again until to-morrow morning." Mark fell in with this plan. He dismissed the car and directed that Inspector Damarell should be told to do nothing more until further information reached him.
"I will see you to-morrow," promised Mark; then he rejoined the inspector and their car went on its way. A surprise and a keen disappointment awaited them at Dartmouth. The day's work had produced no result whatever. Not a trace of Robert Redmayne was reported from anywhere and Inspector Damarell offered the former solution of suicide. But Brendon would not hear it now.
Then sudden, panic fear overtook the man at the last moment natural enough and he begged Bendigo Redmayne to see him in his hiding-place alone. It rang true as a bell. For myself I had not a shadow of suspicion." "That's all right," admitted Damarell, "and I'm not one who pretends to be wise after the event.
Who would come to the rescue now? To whom would she look? Whither would she go? Mark was early astir and with Inspector Damarell he organized an elaborate search system for the day. At nine o'clock a large party had set out, for another morning brought no news by telegram or telephone, and it was clear that Redmayne still continued free.
They occurred in a soft place just outside the mouth of the tunnel and he recollected the toe plates and the triangle-headed nails that held them. He called Inspector Damarell. "When this is compared with the plaster casts taken at Foggintor, you'll find it's the same boot," he said. "That's no surprise, of course, but it proves probably that we are dealing with the same man."
"Telephone to the police station if you have anything to report," he directed, "but should the man appear and attempt to enter, prevent him from doing so." He gave them further directions and then they parted. In half an hour the news had spread, search parties set out by land, and Brendon himself, with Inspector Damarell and two constables, put to sea in the harbour-master's swift steam launch.
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