"They are the same as mine," cried Prain, "and I don't know how his stating them over again can help you. He does not know where Dean is." "Still Mr. Gebb had better see Basson," suggested Alder, with conviction. "Something may come of the visit. Will you call on me afterwards, Mr. Gebb, and tell me what you learn from Basson? I am to be found in the Temple, and, as you may guess, I am most anxious that Dean should be traced. I intend to offer a reward of two hundred pounds for his capture. I hope you will earn it." "I hope so, too," answered Gebb, much pleased; "but you are certain that Dean is guilty?" "If he is not, I don't know who is," replied Alder, emphatically; and for the time being the conversation ended. Gebb left Alder to consult with Prain as to the necessity of exhuming the body of Miss Gilmar for identification, and took his way down to Grangebury to learn why the bluff Lackland had written so earnest and urgent a note. He found the plethoric inspector in a state of excitement bordering on apoplexy, and wondered what could have occurred to stimulate the martinet to such unusual excitement. "That you, Gebb?" cried Lackland, the moment the detective put his nose inside the door. "George! I am glad to see you. It's found, sir--found! What do you think of that, hey?" "What is found? the name of the murderer?" "No, no; but something as useful. The diamond necklace," said Lackland, slowly. "You don't say so!" cried Gebb, excitedly. "Was it sold--pawned----?" "Pawned!" interrupted the inspector. "Aaron and Nathan's, Harold Street, City. It came into their possession the day after the murder." "The devil! Our assassinating friend lost no time. Who pawned it?" "A young man who called himself James Brown." "James Fiddlesticks," said Gebb, contemptuously--"a false name. What was he like?" "Tall, dark, handsome," said Lackland, with military brevity. "Aaron said that he put the necklace up the spout as cool as a cucumber. He was----" "Hold on!" cried Gebb, eagerly. "Had he a mark on one cheek--a birth-mark?" "By George, he had! A purple spot; but not large enough to spoil his looks." "I thought so!" said the detective, joyously. "So it was Arthur Ferris did it." "Arthur who?" asked Lackland, gruffly. "Arthur Ferris, of Chelsea, artist. He pawned the necklace; he stole the diamonds; he murdered Miss Gilmar. Hurrah! we've got him." CHAPTER XIII ARTHUR FERRIS