B. Fletcher Robinson

“ Off I raced as hard as I could put legs to the ground. When I came to the causeway head I pulled up and looked about me. There was a slip of a moon over the island, and a plenty of stars, so that the night was fairly bright. No one was in sight, but presently I heard the thump, thump, of a man running over turf, and who should come panting down the slope but Jake Warner, the keeper. He was in such a hurry that he was nigh as close as I am to you, sir, before he saw me. ”

“ My conversation with the keeper gave some interesting results. It was plainly murder, and no accident. Some one had raised the muzzle of the gun so that it might kill a man and not a fox. Some one had expected a visitor to the island that night against whom he desired to revenge himself. Was Fenton guilty? The evidence against him seemed almost conclusive. He had admitted, you will remember, that he had an appointment with Sir Andrew. Yet, after he had set the trap, why had he continued to risk discovery by loitering about the causeway? How had he known that the spring gun was there at all? ”

“ Peace walked up to it and paused, staring hard at the keeper, who stood beside me. Then with a gentle hand he lifted the sheet. On the pillow lay the head of an elderly man, dark, and full bearded.
Warner stepped back, clutching my arm.
“It's the botanist,” he stammered. “What is he doing here? Was it him as killed the master, sir?”
“Yes,” said the little detective; “he killed Sir Andrew Cheyne.”
For a moment he stooped, busying himself about the head. With a gentle pull he lifted the heavy beard away. ”

“ For days Sir Andrew stayed sulking in his rooms. He was a man of violent temper and unscrupulous past. Heaven knows what schemes of revenge he hatched in his rage and despair. Finally, on Monday last, he risked discovery, disguised himself in the beard, and went down to see the old place again. His meeting with the keeper was a chance, and their talk of spring-guns an equal accident. But the suggestion gave the baronet an idea. 'A spring-gun for a fox'—you remember his words as Warner told us. ”

“ A dead fox would make me a marked man amongst all the hunting people about. I didn't like that thought neither. At last I couldn't stand it no longer, and set off back to the causeway. I was more than half-way when I heard the shot, and that set me running. When I saw the policeman I was mightily afraid he would be finding the vixen dead. That's why I lied to him.”
“I know the rest, Warner,” said Peace; “but I want a few details. Did you see any sign of another man?”
“No, sir.”
“Where was Sir Andrew hit?”
“The chest, sir; he got it full in the chest.” ”

“ I put my hand in my pocket, hesitated, and drew it out empty. It was too public a place for corruption. If Addington Peace had only been with me, I thought—and, so thinking, came by an idea. Even a rural policeman would know the famous detective's name. ”

“ I had pushed it through the mud down to the gravel. It was a good foot deeper when I went to look at it. A man must have used great force to get it so far through the gravel.”
“What became of the gun?”
“After they carried Sir Andrew away, I must have gone off my head for awhile. What would they say to me for setting such a trap for my master? That was the only thing I could think about. I ran back and pulled up the sticks, and carried away the gun to the cottage here.”
“But you saw the policeman arrest the man whom we may presume to be the murderer?” ”

“ The little inspector turned, as he heard my footsteps on the gravel, and nodded a benevolent welcome.
“A fine morning, Mr. Phillips,” he said. “I did not know you were staying in the neighbourhood.”
“I cycled over after hearing the news. Your name opened the gates, Inspector.” ”