She glanced towards my writing-table.  It was covered with papers, and a map of the southern counties leaned up against the wall.  The Prince also was glancing curiously in the same direction.

“I have finished my work for the day,” I said, rising.  “If you will permit me, I will put it away.”

Grooton brought in tea.  The Prince was politely curious as to the subject matter of those closely written sheets of paper.

“You are perhaps interested in literature, Mr. Ducaine,” he remarked.

“Immensely,” I answered, waving my hand towards my bookshelves.

“But you yourself—­you no doubt write?”

“Oh, one tries,” I answered, pouring out the tea.

“It may be permitted then to wish you success,” he remarked dryly.

“You are very good,” I answered.

Lady Angela calmly interposed.  The Prince ate buttered toast and drank tea with a bland affectation of enjoyment.  They rose almost immediately afterwards.

“You are coming up to the house this evening, Mr. Ducaine?” Lady Angela asked.

“I am due there now,” I answered.  “If you will allow me, I will walk back with you.”

The Prince touched my arm as Lady Angela passed out before us.

“I am anxious, Mr. Ducaine,” he said, looking me in the face, “for a few minutes’ private conversation with you.  I shall perhaps be fortunate enough to find you at home to-morrow.”

He did not wait for my answer, for Lady Angela looked back, and he hastened to her side.  He seemed in no hurry, however, to leave the place.  The evening was cloudy and unusually dark.  A north wind was tearing through the grove of stunted firs, and the roar of the incoming sea filled the air with muffled thunder.  The Prince looked about him with a little grimace.

“It is indeed a lonely spot,” he remarked.  “One can imagine anything happening here.  Did I not hear of a tragedy only the other day—­a man found dead?”

“If you have a taste for horrors, Prince,” I remarked, “you can see the spot from the edge of the cliff here.”

The Prince moved eagerly forward.

“I disclaim all such weakness,” he said, “but the little account which I read, or did some one tell me of it?—­ah, I forget; but it interested me.”

I pointed downwards to where the creek-riven marshes merged into the sands.

“It was there—­a little to the left of the white palings,” I said.  “The man was supposed to have been cast up from the sea.”

He measured the distance with his eye.  I anticipated his remark.

“The tide is only halfway up now,” I said, “and on that particular night there was a terrible gale.”

“Nevertheless,” he murmured, half to himself, “it is a long way.  Was the man what you call identified, Mr. Ducaine?”

“No!”

“There were no letters or papers found upon him?”

“None.”

The Prince looked at me sharply.