Jerce wheeled, and his eyes flashed when he beheld Clarke. The vicar had quite thrown aside his nervous, hesitating manner, and with an unflinching face he looked at the great doctor. Anthony, anticipating some fresh revelation, rose from his seat, while Ferdy stared open-mouthed at Prudence's father. He had never seen the vicar look so bold. "I accuse him," said Jerce, with a snarl, and keeping his hard eyes firmly on the weak face of the parson, "because he is guilty." "Not of murder. I swear not of murder." "There, you see," cried Ferdy, triumphantly. "I never killed Uncle Henry." "You did!" said Jerce, fiercely. "I defy Clarke to contradict me." "I do contradict you." "Remember, Clarke, what I know, said Jerce, menacingly. "Know," said the vicar, despairingly, "yes, you know, and you have made use of what you know to make me act unjustly towards Ferdinand. I should have had him for a son-in-law but for you, and my poor girl would have been happy. I held my peace, because you threatened to expose my unhappy son's guilt. But I shall do so no longer. I refuse to stand by and see Ferdinand accused of murder." "Your own son is a murderer," said Jerce, savagely. "Ah," said Anthony, significantly, "So you knew that." "He knew it, and he threatened me with it. He wanted to let all the world know that Felix Exton was Frank Clarke," cried the vicar, "and I--for my daughter's sake--held my peace." "About what?" asked Anthony, quickly. "Take care, Clarke--take care," said Jerce, despairingly. "I take care no longer," said the parson, fiercely; "I have told my son's shame here, and if necessary I shall tell it to all the world, rather than let Ferdinand suffer unjustly. He did not murder Horran." "Then who did?" asked Clarice, entering swiftly, and standing with her back to the door. Clarke pointed to the doctor. "Sir Daniel Jerce." "You liar!" foamed the accused man. "I saw you in your motor coming along by the common during my midnight walk," said Clarke, rapidly. "I saw you hide the motor in the woods. I followed you secretly to the house. You entered by the window, and I stole up to see you kill Horran with the assegai, which you tore from the wall. You fled, and I ran after you. I caught you in the lane, near the wood, and accused you. Then you told me that Frank was a murderer--one of the Purple Fern gang--and swore to denounce him, dead though he was, unless I held my peace. I did so--yes, God help me--I did so, and concealed your wickedness to save the good name of my dead son. While Osip was accused, I still held my peace, for another murder set down to him mattered little. But now that you accuse Ferdinand, I say boldly, and I will say it to the police, that you and none other murdered Henry Horran." "It's false," gasped Jerce, quailing and shrinking, and looking towards the window, as though anxious to escape. "It is true. After I left you, I went back to the room----"