The company generally felt that to go spook-hunting on a sea-cliff was a very silly anti-climax after the confession of the murderer. But Nares, though the most sceptical and scornful of all, thought it his duty to leave no stone unturned; as one might say, no grave-stone unturned. For, after all, that crumbling cliff was the only grave-stone over the watery grave of poor Gideon Wise. Nares locked the door, being the last out of the house, and followed the rest across the moor to the cliff, when he was astonished to see young Potter, the secretary, coming back quickly towards them, his face in the moonlight looking white as a moon.
"By God, sir," he said, speaking for the first time that night, "there really is something there. It—it's just like him."
"Why, you"re raving," gasped the detective. "Everybody's raving."
"Do you think I don't know him when I see him?" cried the secretary with singular bitterness. "I have reason to."
"Perhaps," said the detective sharply, "you are one of those who had reason to hate him, as Halket said."
"Perhaps," said the secretary; "anyhow, I know him, and I tell you I can see him standing there stark and staring under this hellish moon."
And he pointed towards the crack in the cliffs, where they could already see something that might
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