All at once he caught sight of the form of a man lying hidden in
the long grass that nearly covered him from view just where the
far-spreading branches of the great oak ceased to give their shade.

At first Dunn thought he was sleeping, and he was just about to
call out to him when something in the rigidity of the man's position
and his utter stillness struck him unpleasantly.

He went quickly to the man's side, and the face of dead John Clive,
supine and still, stared up at him from unseeing eyes.

He had been killed by a charge of small shot fired at such close
quarters that his breast was shot nearly in two and his clothing
and flesh charred by the burning powder.

But Dunn, standing staring down at the dead man, saw not him, but
Ella. Ella fleeing away silently and furtively through the trees
as from some sight or scene of guilt and terror.

He stooped closer over the dead man. Death had been instantaneous.
Of course there could be no doubt. From one hand a piece of folded
paper had fallen.

Dunn picked it up, and saw that there was writing on it, and he
read it over slowly.

"Dear Mr. Clive,--Can you meet me as before by the oak
tomorrow at eleven? There is something I very much want to
say to you.--Yours sincerely,