himself to think the problem out in all its bearings, and the folly of
adopting the legendary policy of the chased ostrich became manifest.
What, then, should he do? He thought, at first, of invoking the aid of a
barrister friend, who could watch the inquest in his behalf.

Nevertheless, he shrank from that step, which, to his super-sensitive
nature, implied the need of legal protection, and he fiercely resented
the mere notion of such a thing. But something must be done. Once the
murderer was laid by the heels his own troubles would vanish, and the
storm raised by the unhappy fate of Adelaide Melhuish would subside into
a sad memory.

He was wrestling with indecision when a newspaper reporter called. Grant
received the journalist promptly, and told him all the salient facts,
suppressing only the one-time prospect of a marriage between himself and
the famous actress.

The reporter went with him to the river, and scrutinized the marks, now
rapidly becoming obliterated, of the body having been drawn ashore.

"The rope and iron staple, I understand, were taken from the premises of
a man who lets boats for hire on the dam quarter of a mile away," he
said casually.

Grant was astounded at his own failure to make any inquiry whatsoever
concerning this vital matter. He laughed grimly.

"You can imagine the state of my mind," he said, "when I assure you
that, until this moment, it never occurred to me even to ask where these
articles came from or what had become of them."