The first object brought to light, about two feet beneath the surface, was a piece of dark gray woolen stuff which, when the mold was removed, proved to be part of a woman’s skirt.

With frantic eagerness I got into the hole we had made and removed the soil with my hands, until I suddenly touched something hard.

A body lay there, doubled up and crushed into the well-like hole the men had dug.

Together we pulled it out, when, to my surprise, on wiping away the dirt from the hard waxen features, I recognized it as the body of Armida, the woman who had been my servant in Leghorn and who had afterwards married Olinto.  Both had been assassinated!

When Muriel gazed upon the dead woman’s face she gave vent to an expression of surprise.  The body was evidently not that of the person she had expected to find.

“Who is she, I wonder?” my companion ejaculated.  “Not a lady, evidently, by her dress and hands.”

“Evidently not,” was my response, for I still deemed it best to keep my own counsel.  I recollected the story Olinto had told me about his wife; of her illness and her longing to return to Italy.  Yet the dead woman’s countenance must have been healthy enough in life, although her hands were rough and hard, showing that she had been doing manual labor.

Armida had been a particularly good housemaid, a black-haired, black-eyed Tuscan, quick, cleanly, and full of a keen sense of humor.  It was a great shock to me to find her lying there dead.  The breast of her dress was stained with dried blood, which, on examination, I found had issued from a deep and fatal wound beneath the ear where she had been struck an unerring blow that had severed the artery.

“Those men—­those men who buried her!  I wonder who they were?” my companion exclaimed in a hushed voice.  “We must follow them and ascertain.  They are certainly the murderers who have returned in secret and concealed the evidence of this second crime.”

“Yes,” I said.  “Let us go after them.  They must not escape us.”

Then, leaving the exhumed body beneath a tree, I caught Muriel by the waist and waded across the deep channel worn by the stream at that point, after which we both ascended the steep bank where the pair had disappeared in the darkness of the wood.

I blamed myself a thousand times for not following them, yet my suspicions had not been aroused until after they had disappeared.  The back of the man in a snuff-colored suit was, she felt confident, familiar to her.  She repeated what she had already told me, yet she could not remember where she had seen a similar figure before.

We went on through the gloomy forest, for the light had faded and evening was now creeping on.  From time to time we halted and listened.  But there was a dead silence, broken only by the shrill cry of a night bird and the low rustling of the leaves in the autumn wind.  The men knew their way, it seemed, even though the wood was trackless.  Yet they had nearly twenty minutes start of us, and in that time they might be already out in the open country.  Would they succeed in evading us?  Yet even if they did, I could describe the dress of one of them, while that of his companion was, as far as I made out, dark blue, of a somewhat nautical cut.  He wore also a flat cap, with a peak.