'Methinks he sleeps the sleep which knows no waking.' He sprang down from his saddle, and turned the figure over upon his back.

The cold pale light of the early dawn shimmering upon his staring eyes and colourless face showed that the old soldier's instinct was correct, and that he had indeed drawn his last breath.
'Here's a pretty piece of work,' said Saxon, kneeling by the dead man's side and passing his hands over his pockets.

'Footpads, doubtless.

Not a stiver in his pockets, nor as much as a sleeve-link to help pay for the burial.' 'How was he slain!' I asked in horror, looking down at the poor vacant face, the empty house from which the tenant had departed.
'A stab from behind and a tap on the head from the butt of a pistol.
He cannot have been dead long, and yet every groat is gone.

A man of position, too, I should judge from his dress--broadcloth coat by the feel, satin breeches, and silver buckles on his shoes.