“You are quite sure that the man is dead?” questioned Miss Jade.

“In the last war I seen lots of dead men,” said Bisker. “Mr. Grumman is dead all right. His body is stiff and as cold as me nose.”

“Did he fall over the road bank, do you think?”

“Itdon’t look like it by the way he’s lying,” replied Bisker, adding cheerfully: “Course he might ’ave. Iain’t saying as how he didn’t just walk off the bank in his sleep, sort of. Any’ow, he’s dead, and we can’t just plant himsomewheres in the garden.”

Miss Jade’s brows rose much higher than was necessary to erase those vertical lines between her brows. When she spoke again her voice was cold.

“Don’t be foolish, Bisker. Be quiet, I’ll ring the police.”

“That’s what Mr. Bonaparte said, marm,” Bisker answered.

“Mr. Bonaparte!”

“Yes, marm. Mr. Bonaparte came to the edge of the bank just as I had examined the body. He’s having a look round, sorta. Sent me along to tell you and to ask you to ring for the police and the doctor.”

“The doctor! But you said that Mr. Grumman is dead.”

Bisker looked patiently at his employer.

“That’s so, marm. But the law says that only a doctor can prove that a man’s dead.”

It gave Bisker satisfaction to observe that Miss Jade was thrown off her balance, that for once she was a prey to her emotions. He stood calmly watching her as with fluttering hands she lifted the telephone and asked the operator to connect her with the Police Station. Whilst waiting she looked up at Bisker, and he was astounded to see in her eyes a look of appeal. The crisis found the man.

“You had better let me do thetalkin ’,” he suggested.

“Please, Bisker.”

Miss Jade gladly surrendered the instrument, and sat down in the secretary’s chair. Then Bisker spoke.

“This is Wideview Chalet, Mr. Rice,” he said.“Biskertalkin ’. One of our guests, a gent named Grumman, is lying in the ditch at the bottom of the garden. He’s got only his dressing gown and slippers on, and he looks like being dead. Thought you’d like to come down and look him over.”