Before he could answer Miss Grison rose, and shaking the crumbs from her dress walked to the door. There she halted, and turned to fix cold eyes on her astonished host, who had not expected so abrupt a move in the midst of an agreeable conversation. “I have eaten and drunk in this house,” said Miss Grison sternly, “a thing I never believed that I could bring myself to do. Now I shall say what I came to say to you, Mr. Randolph Sorley, and shake the dust from my feet.” “Hadn’t you better speak to me privately?” asked Sorley, rising with a wan smile and a white face. “I think not. What I have to say can be heard by both these young people, who are aware of the opinion I have of you. You are a wicked and cruel and sinful man, worse than the worst of men, although all are bad now that my poor brother is dead.” “Your brother Bald——” “Don’t dare to take his name on your lips,” interrupted Miss Grison in a fierce way. “His death is due to you.” “To me? How dare you accuse me of the murder?” Sorley was whiter than ever and seemed much shaken by the abrupt accusation. “I don’t. But I accuse you of having wrongfully dismissed Baldwin from this house, over twenty years ago.” “I dismissed him, if you will have the truth told in the presence of others, because he forged my name to a check.” “He did not. You malign the dead. You turned him out and soiled his name and ruined his life without a shadow of excuse. That he sank to a slum in Rotherhithe is your work; that he was murdered there is your work, for if he had not been in Rotherhithe he would not have died by violence. If you had dared to come to the funeral I should have spat on your wicked face.” “How dare you! how dare you! Marie, go to your room.” “Marie shall stay until she hears what I think of you,” cried Miss Grison grimly. “With that meal you hoped to smooth me down. But I shall never forgive you for having laid Baldwin in the dust. You have had your turn: now it is my turn. Wait, wait and see how iniquity can be punished,” and, shaking a menacing finger, she stalked out of the room. “Mad! mad. She is mad,” gasped Mr. Sorley and literally tottered out of the library, presumably to follow his denouncer. “What does it all mean, Alan?” asked Marie with awe. “Why did she turn so suddenly on Uncle Ran?” “And why did she mention that her brother was trying to solve some secret writing which he hoped would bring him money?” asked Fuller quickly. “Her brother had the peacock and——” “Exactly. Now Marie we have a clue to the truth.” CHAPTER V THE LETTER