Sure enough, the sight of the dead body on the hurdle shook Miss Belcher’s nerve not at all, or, at any rate, not discernibly.

“Humph!” she said.  “Take him to the pavilion and cover him decently.  You’ll find a yard or two of clean awning in the left-hand corner of the scoring-box.”  She eyed Mr. Goodfellow for a couple of seconds and swung round upon Mr. Rogers.  “Is that the man you’ve arrested?”

Mr. Rogers nodded.

“Fiddlestick-end!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Fiddlestick-end!  Look at the man’s face.  And you call yourself a justice of the peace?”

“It was thrust upon me,” said Mr. Rogers, modestly.  “I don’t say he’s guilty, mind you; and, of course, if you say he isn’t—­”

“Look at his face!” repeated Miss Belcher; and, turning, addressed Mr. Goodfellow.  “My good man, you hadn’t any hand in this—­eh?”

“No, ma’am; in course I hadn’t,” Mr. Goodfellow answered fervently.

“There!  You hear what he says?”

“Lydia, Lydia!  I’ve the highest possible respect for your judgment; but isn’t this what you might cull a trifle—­er—­summary?”

“It saves time,” said Miss Belcher.  “And if you’re going to catch the real culprit, time is precious.  Now take me to see the spot.”

But at this point Mr. Goodfellow’s emotions overmastered him, and he broke forth into the language of rhapsody.

“O woman, woman!” exclaimed Mr. Goodfellow, “whatever would the world do without your wondrous instink!”

“Bless the man!”—­Miss Belcher drew back a pace—­“is he talking of me?”

“No, ma’am; generally, or, as you might say, of the sex as a whole.  Mind you, I won’t go so far as to deny that the gentleman here—­or the constable, for that matter—­had some excuse to be suspicious.  But to think o’ me liftin’ a hand against poor old Danny Coffin!  Why, ma’am, the times I’ve a-led him home from the public when incapable is not to be numbered; and only at this very moment in my little shop, home in Falmouth, I’ve a corner cupboard of his under repair that he wouldn’t trust to another living soul!  And along comes you an’ say, ‘That man’s innocent!  Look at his face!’ you says, which it’s downright womanly instink, if ever there was such a thing in this world.”

“A corner cupboard!” I gasped.  “You have the corner cupboard?”

Mr. Goodfellow nodded.  “I took it home unbeknowns to the old man.  Many a time he’d spoken to me about repairin’ it, the upper hinge bein’ cracked, as you may remember.  But when it came to handin’ it over I could never get him.  So that afternoon, the coast bein’ clear and him sitting drunk in the Plume o’ Feathers, as again you will remember—­”

But here Miss Belcher shot out a hand and gripped my collar to steady me as I reeled.  I dare say that hunger and lack of sleep had much to do with my giddiness; at any rate, the grassy slope had begun all of a sudden to heave and whirl at my feet.