Still guided by the noise of the pump, I at length came out into a small opening among the trees and halted to survey the scene.  The centre of the opening was occupied by a small pond, not more than a dozen yards across, by the side of which stood a builder’s handcart.  The little two-wheeled vehicle had evidently been used to convey the appliances which were deposited on the ground near it, and which consisted of a large tub—­now filled with water—­a shovel, a rake, a sieve, and a portable pump, the latter being fitted with a long delivery hose.  There were three men besides the constable, one of whom was working the handle of the pump, while another was glancing at a paper that the constable had just delivered to him.  He looked up sharply as I appeared, and viewed me with unconcealed disfavour.

“Hallo, sir!” said he.  “You can’t come here.”

Now, seeing that I actually was here, this was clearly a mistake, and I ventured to point out the fallacy.

“Well, I can’t allow you to stay here.  Our business is of a private nature.”

“I know exactly what your business is, Inspector Badger.”

“Oh, do you?” said he, surveying me with a foxy smile.  “And I expect I know what yours is, too.  But we can’t have any of you newspaper gentry spying on us just at present, so you just be off.”

I thought it best to undeceive him at once, and accordingly, having explained who I was, I showed him the coroner’s permit, which he read with manifest annoyance.

“This is all very well, sir,” said he as he handed me back the paper, “but it doesn’t authorise you to come spying on the proceedings of the police.  Any remains that we discover will be deposited in the mortuary, where you can inspect them to your heart’s content; but you can’t stay here and watch us.”

I had no defined object in keeping a watch on the inspector’s proceedings; but the sergeant’s indiscreet hint had aroused my curiosity, which was further excited by Mr. Badger’s evident desire to get rid of me.  Moreover, while we had been talking, the pump had stopped (the muddy floor of the pond being now pretty fully exposed), and the inspector’s assistant was handling the shovel impatiently.

“Now, I put it to you, Inspector,” said I, persuasively, “is it politic of you to allow it to be said that you refused an authorised representative of the family facilities for verifying any statements that you may make hereafter?”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean that if you should happen to find some bone which could be identified as part of the body of Mr. Bellingham, that fact would be of more importance to his family than to anyone else.  You know that there is a very valuable estate and a rather difficult will.”

“I didn’t know it, and I don’t see the bearing of it now” (neither did I, for that matter); “but if you make such a point of being present at the search, I can’t very well refuse.  Only you mustn’t get in our way, that’s all.”