Ellery had no doubt that “the Spaniard” both needed and expected payment for the very real service he had rendered; but it was, he found, by no means easy to come to the point. The old man, despite his seedy garments, was very much the fine gentleman in his manners; it was easy enough to thank him handsomely, and to receive his still more handsome acknowledgments. But it was not at all easy to offer him money. Still, it had to be done; and, awkwardly and stammeringly, Ellery at last did it. He was met with a refusal. “The Spaniard” was only too glad to have been of some service—to a lady. Thanks were more than enough: pecuniary reward would degrade a charming episode to the level of a commercial transaction. Perhaps, some day, Ellery, or Miss Cowper might be in a position to do him a service. He would accept it gladly; but he begged that, until the occasion arose, no more might be said upon the matter. Ellery had to leave it at that, making a resolution to seek at once an occasion for being of service to the man who had helped so greatly in their quest. Meanwhile, he could only thank him again, and exchange, in taking his leave, the fine courtesies which gave “the Spaniard” such manifest pleasure. Ellery’s first action, on leaving Trafalgar Square, was to take steps to summon his other witnesses to meet him at Thomas’s office the following morning. Kitty Frensham he secured by a telephone message to Mandleham’s flat. Mandleham at once promised to come himself, and to bring Kitty with him, at half-past ten. Ellery then walked on to Piccadilly Circus, where he found his friend, the night-watchman, deep this time in Carlyle’s _Oliver Cromwell_, which Ellery had lent him. He, too, promised to be in attendance. Ellery then walked along Piccadilly to the theatre, and secured the attendant who had seen Walter Brooklyn standing outside at “a bit before half-past ten.” This completed his preparations; and he rang at the bell of Liskeard House, and asked for Joan. “What news?” she asked anxiously, coming forward to greet him as he was announced. “The best,” he replied. “The _alibi_ is proved.” “Oh, I am so glad. And now I can tell you a secret. I wasn’t absolutely sure my stepfather had told us the truth. At least, I was sure; but I couldn’t help having a doubt every now and then. And I simply couldn’t bear the thought that he might have been implicated. I knew, of course, that he hadn’t killed any one; but I wasn’t quite sure he didn’t know all about it. And everybody else seemed to believe the worst, and at times I couldn’t help being a little shaken. Now you must tell me all about what you’ve found out.”