It came.  Arising slowly and sullenly out of the depths they beheld a horrible, dripping, shapeless something that eventually resolved itself into a human body—­clothed in torn rags and matted with river-refuse.

Then, to the salvagers, came the most astounding and sinister revelation of all.  Startled oaths burst from them as they beheld now what had retarded their first pull.  Bound tightly to the body with rusted wire was a huge, hand-squared block of stone.  The sergeant’s last and successful cast had resulted in two prongs of the grappling-irons catching in the enveloping wire.

Slowly and cautiously the whole hideous bulk was finally drawn up the shelving bank and over the log and onto dry ground.  Yorke shouted, and Slavin, checking the horses, detached the rope from the double-trees.  Handing the lines over to Lanky Jones he joined the others, who were critically examining their gruesome catch.  To their surprise, although the features were unrecognisable, the corpse was not so decomposed as they had first imagined, the ice-cold water having preserved it to a certain extent.  Still firmly hooked to the rags of clothing—­a ludicrously grim joke—­was the huge jumping, gasping trout which Redmond had struck and lost.

Suddenly Yorke uttered a low exclamation.  “Burke!  Burke!” he said tensely, “there you are! . . .  Look at the right hand’”

The eyes of all were centered on the grimy, stiffened, clawlike fist.  They saw that two of the fingers were missing.  An exultant oath burst from Slavin.  “By G——!” he said, with grim conviction, “it’s him all right!—­that pore hobo shtiff—­Dick Drinkwater.  Eyah! fwhat’s in a name?  Fwhat’s in a name?” He pointed to the grinning jaws.  “Luk at th’ gold teeth av um, tu!” he added.

The coroner was examining the almost fleshless skull.  He gave a cry of anger and dismay.  “Good God!” he gasped.  “Look here, all of you! . . .  This man’s been shot through the head, too!” He indicated the small, circular orifice in the occiput, and its egress below the left eye.

“Only an exceedingly powerful, high-pressure weapon could have done that,” he continued significantly, “both holes are alike—­bullet hasn’t ‘mushroomed’ at all.”

“Eyah!” Slavin agreed wearily.  “We know fwhat kind av a gun did ut.  And luk here!” he added savagely, pointing to the bare feet, “here’s another of Mr. Man’s little jokes—­no boots.  If they’d have been lift on they’d have shtuck tighter’n glue—­in that water.  Reddy was ’bout right, Yorkey!  Gully, d——­n him! did frame us that day.  Must have used thim himsilf tu make thim thracks wid—­early in th’ mornin’—­behfure he met up wid us on th’ thrail.  Oh, blarney my sowl!  Yes!  Had us chasin’ for a whole silly week, all for—­”

He broke off abruptly, choking with rage.  For awhile, in silence, the party gazed at the pitiful, hideous monstrosity that had once been a man.  Then the ever-practical Redmond proceeded, with the aid of a large pebble, to burst, strand by strand, the wire which bound the stone to the body.