He was going to town with the evident intention of evading me. Doubtless he thought that, deceived by the episode at the Hôtel des Étrangers, I had quite abandoned all idea of meddling in the affair. But for Merrick I should certainly have done so. Now that Merrick saw the matter in the same light as I did, I was determined to go on, but resolved to give no hint of this to Felix. When he left Marshminster, I could pursue my inquiries at leisure. Already I had been too rash in revealing my intentions, for had I not mentioned my journey to Paris, Felix would not have been put on his guard and baffled me so adroitly. I had at least gained one important piece of information, which in itself was sufficient to break off the match. The passenger list of the _Copiapo_ proved conclusively that Francis had not reached England before the 6th of June, and this shown to Olivia would show that Felix was passing himself off as her lover. With such proof I could stop the marriage immediately, but preferred to wait until I gained further evidence implicating him in the murder of his brother. I believed Merrick's theory to be true, and quite expected to find that Felix had ridden out to the Fen Inn for the purpose of hiding his brother's body in one of the bogholes. "By the way," I asked Aunt Jane, as we parted for the night, "how does Miss Bellin look? Like a happy bride! eh?" "By no means," replied my aunt solemnly; "she looks ill and miserable. But that I know this marriage with Francis is a love match, I should say she disliked the idea of becoming his wife." "No doubt," thought I, "no doubt. Olivia mistrusts Felix already." I said good-night to my elderly relative, and went off to bed. Instead of turning in I lighted my pipe and leaned out of the window, thinking deeply. Could it be possible that Olivia had discovered the imposture? If so, why did she tamely submit to marry a man whom she must know was guilty of his brother's and her lover's death? Moreover, if she were assured of this, she must also have condoned the deception at the Hôtel des Étrangers. Her conduct seemed strange, yet I could not bring myself to believe that she knew the truth. If she did, she was as bad as Felix. "She must think he is really Francis, and that Felix is in Paris," I thought. "Surely she would not willingly go to the altar with a man whom she knows to be a villain. No! He has thrown dust in her eyes, and made her believe what he pleases. I must save the poor girl from such a fate. Perhaps, in spite of outward semblance, she instinctively feels that Felix is not Francis. Women have their instincts. I know of no other reason why she should look pale and ill."