"It is something much worse than that," answered Mrs. Wyllard gravely; and then Bothwell related the catastrophe on the railway.
Julian Wyllard came back to the carriage just as the story was finished.
"This will be a job for you, Heathcote," he said. "A very sad one. The story has a brutal sound to me, remembering past stories of the same kind," answered Heathcote. "It shall not be my fault if the ruffian escapes."
"You think there is a ruffian, then? You don't take it for a case of suicide?"
"Decidedly not," replied the other promptly. "Why should a girl choose such a death as that?"
"Why should a girl throw herself off the Monument?" asked Wyllard. "Yet we know girls had a rage for doing that, fifty years ago. However, you will have a good opportunity for the display of your legal acumen in a really mysterious case. I did all I could in my small way to put the officials on the alert along the line; and if any scoundrel had a hand in that poor child's death, I don't believe he will get off easily. Where are you riding?"
"Only for an evening stroll over the downs."
"You had better come home and have supper with us. It will be too late to call it dinner."
"You are very good, but I dined at seven. Besides, I shall have to arrange about this inquest for to-morrow. I'll talk to Morris, and then ride on to the Vital Spark, and settle matters with the people there."
The Vital Spark was the small roadside inn where the dead girl was lying. The Penmorval barouche drove off, while Edward Heathcote stopped to talk to Morris, the Inspector. The jury would have to get notice early next morning. The inquest was to be held at five in the afternoon. This would give time for the tradesmen to get away from their shops. The chief business of the day in Bodmin town would be over.
"It will give time for any one in this neighbourhood, who knows anything about the girl, to come forward," added Mr. Heathcote. "If she was going to a situation in this part of the world, as Mr. Wyllard suggests, some one must know all about her."
"What a man he is, Mr. Heathcote!" said the Inspector admiringly. "Such clearness, such decision; always to the point."
"Yes, he is a very superior man," answered Heathcote heartily.
He had schooled himself long ago to generous thoughts about his rival. It pleased him to know that Dora had been lucky in her choice, that she had not taken a scorpion into her bosom when she preferred another man to himself. He had wondered
