"It is St. Catherine's cross," said Fanks, recalling the mark on Hersham's arm. "Perhaps Sir Francis attached some meaning to it. Do you know if he tattooed anyone else with the same symbol?" At this remark Mrs. Prisom suddenly desisted from her occupation, and not only refused to speak but taxed Fanks with trying to fathom her meaning for some ill purpose. "Why should you come down here, and ask questions about Sir Francis Fellenger?" she asked, with a troubled look; "why do you wish to know all these things?" There was no help for it. If Fanks wished to learn the truth he would have to tell her the real purpose of his visit; and then out of love for the memory of Sir Francis she might do what she could to aid him to discover the person who had murdered Sir Gregory. Resolving to risk all on the casting of this die, he spoke out boldly and to the point. Yet he approached the old lady with a certain amount of caution. "I have an important reason for asking you these questions," he said, in an earnest tone, "and I shall tell you my reason shortly. But first say if you regretted the death of Sir Gregory." "I regretted it because he was the son of his father, but I did not care over much for him. He was a bad man, Mr. Fanks, a very bad man. I loved the father as an old playmate, and as one who was always kind to me and mine; but the son--ah!" Mrs. Prisom shook her head and sighed. "You know that he was murdered?" "Yes; but they never found out who murdered him." "No; they are trying to find out now. You may be able to help me to do so." "Help you?" said the old lady, in a frightened tone. "Who are you, sir?" "My name is Fanks, as, you know, Mrs. Prisom. But what you do not know is that I am a detective, anxious to learn who killed Sir Gregory." "I know nothing of the murder, sir. I am a simple old body, and cannot help you in any way." "Oh, yes, you can, Mrs. Prisom. You can help me by relating all you know about this tattooing." "But what can the death of Sir Gregory have to do with an old story of man's treachery and woman's folly?" "More than you think. The whole secret of the death lies in the explanation of that tattooing. Come, Mrs. Prisom, you must tell me all you know." Mrs. Prisom thought for a moment, and then made up her mind. "I'll do what I can," said she. "Those who are concerned in this tale are dead and gone; and, so long as it does not hurt the living, I see no reason why I should not gratify your curiosity; but I must ask you not to repeat what I tell you, unless you are absolutely obliged to do so. It is no good spreading family scandals, but as you have appealed to me to help you to revenge the murder of my old, playfellow's son, I will confide in you."