“That is extremely fortunate,” said Fulk. “You must trace out a plan for me, in case we should get separated. So you were at the family council—I read much of it in the papers which they allow me. By-the-by, Marese Baskette is about to marry my cousin. I wonder she has escaped the asylum so long—the common fate of us poor Lechesters. Tell me now about your Violet’s claim.” Aymer did so. Fulk mused a little while. “I begin to see daylight,” he said. “I see much that I did not previously comprehend. If we only wait, and keep watching, everything comes plain in time. Waldron—I knew the Waldrons well—very respectable people, and well descended. Waldron is mentioned in Domesday—Waleran Venator—i.e., Walron, the Huntsman. Jason Waldron—I wonder if I had better tell you what I know?—he was murdered, and—but you will not rest nor eat.” “I shall certainly not eat or sleep unless you tell me.” “Very well, but do keep calm; we shall be out all the sooner, unless indeed some unforeseen circumstance stops it, as it has hitherto done. _Ay di me_!” “Do you know anything of Jason Waldron’s murder?” asked Aymer, impatiently. “I do; you have yourself told me. I had my suspicions—almost certainty—before, but I could not see the motive; now I see the motive—poor, miserable Odo!” “Odo! what has Odo, to do with it? Do go on; I am wild.” “Very well. Odo Lechester murdered your friend Jason Waldron!” “But Odo Lechester is in a lunatic asylum, incurable.” “Odo Lechester was in this very asylum, but he escaped nearly a year ago. He escaped by permission.” “I am in the dark—explain.” “By permission, directed to destroy Jason Waldron. He had homicidal tendencies, you know.” “Homicidal tendencies!—escaped! Stay a minute, let me think. I remember now. Oh! what a fool I have been. Why, I saw the description of him posted up against the police station in Stirmingham, during the election; it was partly destroyed—evidently an old bill. I see—I see. But why should Odo Lechester kill Jason?” “He was instructed to do so. Your dear friend Theodore, who so kindly offered you a secretaryship at seven hundred and fifty pounds a year, told him to do so.” “Why—how—how could he—” “Work on Odo’s mind? Easily enough. Poor Odo—he is a beast, born in the shape of a man: it is not his fault—he is not responsible. Odo is a tinker and a whistler; he is at home among the gipsies and the woods, playing on his tin whistle, mending pots and kettles. His three great passions are tinkering, dogs, and—liberty. Theodore simply assured him that it was Waldron who was the cause of his confinement. Jason dead, Odo would be for ever free. Shall I add one more word? If Jason’s daughter were also dead, Odo would be still safer in his freedom.” “Good God! he may be killing her now. Let me out—help me.” “Silence! Be quiet. She is safe—your cries will ruin all. She is safe in this very building.”