"Why, here is Mr. Draper himself," exclaimed the sergeant, stopping
short and waving his hand. "I expect he has heard the news already."

Thorndyke and I also halted, and with some curiosity watched the
approach of this new party to the tragedy. As the stranger drew near we
saw that he was a tall, athletic-looking man of about forty, dressed in
a Norfolk knickerbocker suit, and having the appearance of an ordinary
country gentleman, excepting that he carried in his hand, in place of a
walking-stick, the staff of a butterfly-net, the folding ring and bag of
which partly projected from his pocket.

"Is it true, Sergeant?" he exclaimed as he came up to us, panting from
his exertions. "About Mr. Hearn, I mean. There is a rumour that he has
been found dead on the beach."

"It's quite true, sir, I am sorry to say; and, what is worse, he has
been murdered."

"My God! you don't say so!"

He turned towards us a face that must ordinarily have been jovial
enough, but was now white and scared and, after a brief pause, he
exclaimed:

"Murdered! Good God! Poor old Hearn! How did it happen, Sergeant? and
when? and is there any clue to the murderer?"

"We can't say for certain when it happened," replied the sergeant, "and
as to the question of clues, I was just coming up to call on you."