“Hope so, I’m sure,” said one of the policemen drily. “Could you not let him go?” suggested the new earl uneasily. “No, sir; I’m afraid we couldn’t see our way to it. Gentlemen found running away in a house where a murder has been committed isn’t let off quite so easy.” “Murder! Who said there was a murder?” The man pointed to the constable who had brought the doctor to Rees. “This man and the young lady there found the body.” “The young lady,” cried Goodhare mockingly. “The young lady’s word isn’t worth much. If you take her to the station and have her searched, you will find on her a quantity of jewels of great value, stolen from the Regalia at the Tower.” Evidently some rumor of the theft, quiet as the matter had been kept, had reached the ears of the force. For they looked at each other, and one of them stepped quickly forward, with his hand raised, towards Deborah. To her great surprise, the decorous Charles Cenarth came to the rescue with a deliberate and roundly uttered falsehood. “I don’t know what the prisoner hopes to gain by this ridiculous charge against a young lady,” he said, gravely. “But as I happen to be Keeper of the Regalia, no one can prove better than I that she cannot be in possession of any of the crown jewels, as none of the crown jewels have ever been stolen.” “Ah, ah! Very good! Very good, indeed, brother Charles,” said Goodhare, mockingly. The police officers said nothing to all this. They began to “smell a rat,” however; for if there had been nothing in the rumored theft, what should two such prodigious swells as the earl and his brother do poking about in this thieves’ den, with such disastrous results for one of them? As there was nothing to be got by contradicting the “swell’s” assertion, the man who had approached Deborah stepped back respectfully. “Come on,” said he to his companions, “we’ll make sure of this one, anyhow.” And he looked at Goodhare, who had subsided into silence. “There’s another of ’em downstairs, ain’t there?” asked one of the others. “He’s done for, I think.” But at that moment there came up from the cellar the doctor and the fourth policeman, supporting between them the weak and almost helpless Rees Pennant, who tried feebly to walk, but was scarcely able to do more then drag his feet limply after him. “This man had nothing to do with the murder,” said Deborah hastily, glancing in fear towards Amos Goodhare as she laid her hand on one of Rees’s helpless arms. “No, that is right enough,” said Goodhare at once, to Deborah’s surprise. “He had nothing to do with it.”