By the time that I had reached the cavern the waves already flowed
over old sea wolf's resting-place. I landed, half filled my sack
with stones and sand, scattered judicious drops of blood and climbed
the steps and tunnel, laying the trail that occupied official
attention to such poor purpose during the days that followed.
Having reached the plateau, I emptied my sack, casting its contents
over the cliff; I then left a good impression or two of Robert
Redmayne's shoes, which I had, of course, remembered to put on. They
would be recollected by Mark Brendon, for impressions had been found
and records taken at Foggintor.
I swiftly descended the tunnel again after these operations,
returned to my boathouse, stowed my sack, changed my boots and
hastened to Brendon with my story. How we proceeded to the cave, our
fruitless inquiries and the subsequent failure to find any solution
to the disappearance of Bendigo and the reappearance of Robert are
all facts within the memory. I need not tell you that tale again;
but may declare how specially attractive it was to picture the
puzzled police upon the little beach next day, and know that Bendigo
Redmayne lay not a yard beneath their feet.
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