"Dead!--of course," he went on. "He--he must have been killed
instantaneously. And you'll see in a minute or two why the body wasn't
found before--when we made that first search. It's quite explainable. The
fact is--"
A sudden bustle at the door in the wall heralded the entrance of two
policemen. The Squire went forward to meet them. The prospect of
immediate action seemed to pull him together and his manner changed to
one of assertive superintendence of things.
"Now, Mr. Chatfield!" he called out. "Keep all these people away! Close
the door and let no one enter on any excuse. Stay there yourself and see
that we are not interrupted. Come this way now," he went on, addressing
the policemen and the two favoured spectators.
"You've found him, then, sir?" asked the police-sergeant in a thick
whisper, as Greyle led his party across the grass to the foot of the
Keep. "I suppose it's all up with the poor gentleman; of course? The
doctor, he wasn't in, but they'll send him up as soon--"
"Mr. Bassett Oliver is dead," interrupted Greyle, almost harshly. "No
doctors can do any good. Now, look here," he continued, pulling them to a
sudden halt, "I want all of you to take particular notice of this old
tower--the Keep. I believe you have not been in here before, Mr.
Copplestone--just pay particular attention to this place. Here you see is
the Keep, standing in the middle of what I suppose was the courtyard of
the old castle.
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