Murder in a small world

‘What is it, Sevidge?’ I asked. He glanced round to make sure that we were alone. Then he came close. ‘It’s murder, Mr Henderson!’ he said in a low voice. ‘Do you know that young fellow Maidment—Roger Maidment?’ ‘The rent-collector?’ I replied. ‘Yes!’ ‘He’s lying there in Hagsdene Wood—dead,’ he went on. ‘I found him just now, as I was on my way to Wrenne Park. Been lying there all night from the look of him—clothes wet through, and so on.’ ‘What makes you think it’s murder?’ I asked. ‘Ah!’ he answered. ‘No doubt of it. There’s a wound on his left temple—but you’ll see for yourself. And—his pockets are all turned inside out. Murdered—and robbed!’ ‘Anybody else know?’ I inquired.