Monk now went pale indeed. But recovering himself he cried, “I know neither of you. I warned you that I was in haste. What do you want? Out with it!” The little man now took up the conversation, speaking in a prim business-like voice, and occasionally referring to a large note-book which he carried. “Mr. Monk, you are, I am informed, the sole heir male of the late Colonel Monk, your cousin by the father’s side, who was supposed to have died in India in the year 1862.” “Yes, that’s true. What then?” “On the report of his death, his name being included in an official list of officers killed and wounded in action, and it being understood that he died without lawful issue, you laid claim to the demesne of Monkshurst, in Cheshire, and that of the same name in Anglesea. Your claim was recognized, and in 1864 you took possession.” “Well. Have you detained me to hear only what I already knew?” “Pardon me, I have not finished. I have now to inform you that you inherited under a misconception, first because Colonel Monk was married and had issue, secondly, because he did not die in India, but reached the shores of England, where he perished in the shipwreck of the ship _Trinidad_, in the year 1864.” Monk was livid. At this moment Jones, who had been watching the scene from a distance, came over, panting and perspiring in ill-concealed terror. “Lor’, Mr. Monk, what’s the matter? Look ye now, we shall be late for the wedding.” As he spoke Marshall, the detective, clapped him playfully on the shoulder. “How d’ye do, William Jones? I’ve often heard of you, and wished to know you. Pray stop where you are. I’ll talk to _you_ presently.” “I don’t know what you mean,” Monk now said with dogged desperation, “with all this rigmarole, Mr. Lightwood, or whatever your name is. It seems to me you are simply raving. If I am not my cousin’s heir, who is, tell me that?” “His daughter,” said the man quietly. “He never married, and he never had a daughter.” “His daughter, an infant twelve or fourteen months old, sailed to England with him, was shipwrecked with him, but saved by a special Providence, and has since been living in this place under the name of Matt Jones.” “Your intended bride, you know,” added Marshall with an insinuating smile. “Hullo, where _is_ the young lady?” Monk looked round towards the dog-cart and on every side, but Matt was nowhere to-be seen. “I see her go into that theer cart,” said William Jones. “Call her,” cried Monk. “I’ll stay no longer here. Listen to me, you two. Whether you are telling truth or lies, that girl is going to become my wife--I have her guardian’s consent, and she herself, I may tell you, fully appreciates the honour I am doing her.”