“Is it his writing?” asked Latimer, referring to Sorley, but not mentioning the name because of Jotty’s presence. “I think so. I can compare it with the letter he wrote me. The initials are certainly his, and the appointment is for the night of the murder.” “But he wos up afore,” put in Jotty, who grinned in a very satisfied manner, as he well might do, considering he had just made two pounds. “Who was up before?” asked Latimer sharply. “Him es wrote thet letter.” “Can you describe the man?” “Ain’t I done so,” said Jotty in an injured tone, “he wos a real gent wiff slap-up clothes. Hadn’t got no hair on his face he hadn’t and torked es if every cove wos dirt. Stiff-like, too, an’ an ole ’un, tryin’ to look like a young toff.” Alan winced again as both the letter and Jotty’s very excellent description seemed to prove that Sorley was the guilty person. “How do you know that this gentleman you describe wrote the letter?” “Cos I seed him coming up an hour or so afore him es wos good t’ me kicked th’ bucket. I wos turned out, long afore he come in. So I goes away an’ dosses wiff a friend o’ mine, and never hears no more till nex’ morning when Mother Slaig, she ups and ses es murder had bin done cruel.” “Is that all you know?” “Every blessed bit, sir,” said Jotty cheerfully. “Why didn’t you tell this to Inspector Moon at the inquest?” demanded Latimer sharply. “Cos there wasn’t no quids in it then,” retorted the boy impudently, “an’ I do nothin’ fur nothin’, I do anyhow. An’ now I’ve got wot I arsked fur,” he placed his cap on his head, “I’m on t’ give m’self a treat.” The youth had edged near the door by this time, and held it slightly open, evidently expecting to be stopped. Indeed Fuller put out an arm to detain him and ask further questions, only to cause Jotty to vanish in a remarkably swift space of time. Dick prevented Alan, who was about to follow. “Let him go,” said Latimer quickly, “we can always get hold of him when we want. Compare the letters?” Without a word Alan did so, and placed both the one he had received from Sorley and that which Jotty had sold, under Dick’s eye. The latter drew a long breath. “There’s no doubt about it, Alan,” he said sadly, “they are written by one and the same man. Sorley had an appointment with Grison at Mother Slaig’s on the night of the crime, as this letter proves. Also Jotty declares that he saw him, for the description is very accurate. Hum! I wish you had not shown the boy that drawing of the peacock.” “The moment I did show it, I guessed that I had made a mistake,” said Fuller quickly; “and so I was forced against my will to tell a necessary lie in order to lull the lad’s suspicions. But it seems evident, Dick, that Sorley got the peacock from Grison, and that the yarn about the sister leaving it, is wholly untrue. What’s to be done now?” “Sorley must be arrested for murder,” said Dick decisively. “No, no. He may be innocent after all!”