"What do you really think yourself?" asked Parker.
"I haven't come yet to the unpleasantest bit of the lot," said Peter. "I've only just heard it, and it did give me a nasty jar, I'll admit. Yesterday I got a letter from Lubbock saying he would like to see me, so I trotted up here and dropped in on him this morning. You remember I sent him a stain off one of Mary's skirts which Bunter had cut out for me? I had taken a squint at it myself, and didn't like the look of it, so I sent it up to Lubbock, ex abundantia cautelæ; and I'm sorry to say he confirms me. It's human blood, Charles, and I'm afraid it's Cathcart's."
"But--I've lost the thread of this a bit."
"Well, the skirt must have got stained the day Cathcart--died, as that was the last day on which the party was out on the moors, an
