"She has told me everything," interrupted Gebb; "and Dean tried to punish her for talking. Then he ran away, and I chased him into Norminster, where he now lies in gaol." "But he is mad!" said Ferris, eagerly. "Who is mad?" demanded Gebb, turning on him. "Your father, or Martin the gardener?" Ferris made a despairing gesture. "Since you know so much," he said in low tones, "I admit that the two are one and the same. Martin is really my father, Marmaduke Dean, who has been concealed here; but he is insane." "He is nothing of the sort, Mr. Ferris. His insanity was feigned for the better baffling of the police. Neither you nor Miss Wedderburn can deceive me any longer. You have kept silence, you have told untruths, and altogether have given me endless trouble, but now I must insist upon your speaking out, both of you. This time I know so much that you cannot deceive me; and I'll force you to speak." "Suppose we refuse?" cried Edith, indignant at this rough speech. "If you do I'll arrest you both as accessories after the fact to the murder of Miss Gilmar. Ah, you look afraid! But I know--I know. Dean murdered that woman, and you are both aware of it." "My father is innocent!" cried Arthur, with a groan. "If he is, what was he doing at Grangebury on the evening of the murder? Why did he stay in London all night? What was his return ticket to Norminster doing in Miss Gilmar's room at Paradise Row? The man is guilty, I tell you. Defend him if you can. Tell the truth if you dare, and for once both of you act honourably and straightforwardly." The detective spoke with much vehemence, and rising from his seat walked rapidly up and down the room. Much as Edith resented his language, yet she was conscious that in a great measure it was deserved. For this reason she restrained her passion and spoke frankly and to the purpose. "Mr. Gebb," she said, and the detective paused to listen, "I do not deny that much you say is true. Neither myself nor Mr. Ferris have spoken so openly as we might have done. But you must not forget that we had much that was dangerous to ourselves to conceal. If we had told you about the necklace, you might have suspected us of the crime, and it was dread of such danger which kept us silent." "I know that you are both innocent," said Gebb, coldly. "But about Dean?" "We did not speak of Dean--of my father--for the same reason," struck in Arthur, earnestly. "He was imprisoned for a crime which he did not commit, and you would not have had me--his own son--betray him." "Perhaps not; it is a hard thing to ask," responded the detective. "But now that I know so much, perhaps you will tell me more, and inform me how it was that your father came here, and when it was that you first recognized him."