Within his palm I saw lying a tiny little gold cross, about an inch long, enameled in red, while in the center was a circular miniature of a kneeling saint, an elegant and beautifully executed little trinket which might have adorned a lady’s bracelet.

“This is a pretty little thing!” remarked the detective.  “It may possibly lead us to something.  But, Mr. Gregg,” he added, turning to me, “are you quite certain you left the body here?”

“Certain?” I echoed.  “Why, look at the hole I made.  You don’t think I have any interest in leading you here on a fool’s errand, do you?”

“Not at all,” he said apologetically.  “Only the whole affair seems so very inconceivable—­I mean that the men, having once got rid of the evidence of their crime, would hardly return to the spot and re-obtain possession of it.”

“Unless they watched me exhume it, and feared the consequences if it fell into your hands,” I suggested.

“Of course they might have watched you from behind the trees, and when you had gone they came and carried it away somewhere else,” he remarked dubiously; “but even if they did, it must be in this wood.  They would never risk carrying a body very far, and here is surely the best place of concealment in the whole country.”

“The only thing remaining is to search the wood at daylight,” I suggested.  “If the two men came back here during my absence they may still be on the watch in the vicinity.”

“Most probably they are.  We must take every precaution,” he said decisively.  And then, with our lanterns lowered, we made an examination of the vicinity, without, however, discovering anything else to furnish us with a clew.  While I had been absent the body of the unfortunate Armida had disappeared—­a fact which, knowing all that I did, was doubly mysterious.

The pair had, without doubt, watched Muriel and myself, and as soon as we had gone they had returned and carried off the ghastly remains of the poor woman who had been so foully done to death.

But who were the men—­the fellow with the broad shoulders whom Muriel recognized, and the slim seafarer in his pilot-coat and peaked cap?  The enigma each hour became more and more inscrutable.

At dawn Mackenzie, with four of his men, made a thorough examination of the wood, but although they continued until dusk they discovered nothing, neither was anything heard of the mysterious seafarer and his companion in brown tweeds.

I called on Muriel as arranged, and explained how the body had so suddenly disappeared, whereupon she stared at me pale-faced, saying—­

“The assassins must have watched us!  They are aware, then, that we have knowledge of their crime?”

“Of course,” I said.

“Ah!” she cried hoarsely.  “Then we are both in deadly peril—­peril of our own lives!  These people will hesitate at nothing.  Both you and I are marked down by them, without a doubt.  We must both be wary not to fall into any trap they may lay for us.”