He stooped over the place where the body had lain, and having narrowly examined the sand there and in the place where the dead man’s feet had rested, drew out his notebook and made a memorandum.  He next made a rapid sketch-plan of the bay, marking the position of the body and the various impressions in the sand, and then, following the double track leading from and to the Shepherd’s Path, scrutinized the footprints with the deepest attention, making copious notes and sketches in his book.

“We may as well go up by the Shepherd’s Path,” said Thorndyke.  “I think we are equal to the climb, and there may be visible traces of the murderer after all.  The rock is only a sandstone, and not a very hard one either.”

We approached the foot of the little rugged track which zigzagged up the face of the cliff, and, stooping down among the stiff, dry herbage, examined the surface.  Here, at the bottom of the path, where the rock was softened by the weather, there were several distinct impressions on the crumbling surface of the murderer’s nailed boots, though they were somewhat confused by the tracks of the sergeant, whose boots were heavily nailed.  But as we ascended the marks became rather less distinct, and at quite a short distance from the foot of the cliff we lost them altogether, though we had no difficulty in following the more recent traces of the sergeant’s passage up the path.

When we reached the top of the cliff we paused to scan the path that ran along its edge, but here, too, although the sergeant’s heavy boots had left quite visible impressions on the ground, there were no signs of any other feet.  At a little distance the sagacious officer himself was pursuing his investigations, walking backwards and forwards with his body bent double, and his eyes fixed on the ground.

“Not a trace of him anywhere,” said he, straightening himself up as we approached.  “I was afraid there wouldn’t be after all this dry weather.  I shall have to try a different tack.  This is a small place, and if those boots belong to anyone living here they’ll be sure to be known.”

“The deceased gentleman—­Mr. Hearn, I think you called him,” said Thorndyke as we turned towards the village—­“is he a native of the locality?”

“Oh no, sir,” replied the officer.  “He is almost a stranger.  He has only been here about three weeks; but, you know, in a little place like this a man soon gets to be known—­and his business, too, for that matter,” he added, with a smile.

“What was his business, then?” asked Thorndyke.

“Pleasure, I believe.  He was down here for a holiday, though it’s a good way past the season; but, then, he had a friend living here, and that makes a difference.  Mr. Draper up at the Poplars was an old friend of his, I understand.  I am going to call on him now.”

We walked on along the footpath that led towards the village, but had only proceeded two or three hundred yards when a loud hail drew our attention to a man running across a field towards us from the direction of the cliff.