George left the house, as there was nothing he could do, but he intended to call in again. Meanwhile he repaired to Amelia Square to see Bawdsey. Derrington wished him to tell the detective to stop looking after the case and discharge him from his employment. In his pocket George had a check for one thousand pounds, and when this was paid the whole case was to be relegated to obscurity. Now that Derrington was reconciled to his grandson he was anxious, for obvious reasons, that the sordid tragedy of Mrs. Jersey's death should not come to light. He had not played a very respectable part in it himself, and, moreover, he did not wish that confession published. It would only be a case of washing the family linen in public, and both George and he agreed that this was undesirable. The sooner Bawdsey married Lola and went to America the better, Derrington thought. And for his own sake Bawdsey would hold his tongue, seeing what a close connection he was of the dead woman. Bawdsey was at home and saw George at once. He looked rather excited, and could hardly keep his seat. "Well, Mr. Brendon," he asked, "what is it?" "I should rather ask you that;" said George; "you seem excited." "Not very. Only I have been fortunate in some business, and----" "What is the business?" "I'll tell you that later. What is yours?" "A pleasant one," rejoined George. "Here is the check for one thousand pounds which my grandfather promised you. Marry Lola and go to the States, and stop searching for the assassin of Mrs. Jersey." "Thank you," replied Bawdsey, taking the check eagerly, "your grandfather is a prince, Mr. Brendon. As to the case, why should I stop searching?" "You will never find the assassin." "Pardon me," said Bawdsey, in high glee. "I have found the assassin. Yes!" as George uttered an ejaculation. "Miss Bull killed Mrs. Jersey." CHAPTER XXV THE TRUTH George stared at the triumphant detective in surprise. It seemed impossible that what he stated could be true. Miss Bull was the very last person whom Brendon would have accused. No one had been more candid than she had been, and no one at the time of the discovery of the crime had done more to help the detectives. "You must mean Margery," said George after a time. "No, I don't," replied Bawdsey, in a determined voice. "I mean that little white old woman with the black eyes--Miss Bull, or, as you know her, Miss Jenny Howard." "But what reason----" "Ah, that's a long story! She shall tell you herself." "Have you had her arrested?" "Not yet. But she will be arrested before the end of the day. I have already communicated with Scotland Yard." George rose and walked to the window. He felt irritable and upset now that the truth had come to light. He wished that Bawdsey had not been so confoundedly interfering, and the detective's next words annoyed him still further.