"Yes," broke in Lovel fiercely, "it is the name of the assassin; and I hope I'll see him in gaol to-night. Where are you going now, doctor?" he asked abruptly. "To see Mother Jimboy. She is ill, you know." "Yes, I know," assented Lovel gloomily. "Will she die?" "I hope not; but she is old, and should fever intervene, or inflammation be set up, I am afraid she will die." "It may be well if she does," muttered Lovel to himself. "Good-bye, doctor. You shall know who killed Milly this very night." When Lester took his departure, which he did very unwillingly, as he was anxious to know the truth, Paul and his companion went to the Vicarage, and without much difficulty were shown into the presence of Chaskin. The Vicar happened to be at home at the moment, and saw them with apparent willingness; but Lovel, with jealous eyes, perceived that he changed colour when they entered. Also, his voice shook when he asked them to be seated; and from these signs of emotion in the absence of any apparent cause Paul augured ill. For an innocent man Chaskin was strangely moved. "We have come to see you on a very important matter, sir," said Paul. "Yes," responded Chaskin, trying to preserve his calmness; "and about what?" "Let me answer that question," said Lovel, before Paul could speak. "About the murder of Miss Lester." "What about the murder, Mr. Lovel? Why do you come to me on such errand?" "Because I think you can best answer our questions." Chaskin rose suddenly from his chair, and commanded his voice with a powerful effort of will, but the perspiration beaded his brow as he spoke. "What am I to understand by this speech, Mr. Lovel?" "That you are the assassin of Milly Lester!" "I--I!" gasped the Vicar, sitting down again, less by will than because he could no longer stand upright. "You dare to accuse me of this terrible crime! Mr. Mexton, is your friend mad?" "No, Mr. Chaskin," replied Paul in sad tones. "I believe the same as he does." "That I killed Miss Lester--I, who read the service over her coffin!" "Yes," exclaimed both men together. Chaskin passed his hand across his brow and groaned. "This is some horrible dream," he said in an agitated voice, "You cannot be serious!" "But we are serious," said Mexton, agitated also. "I would willingly believe you guiltless, sir, but what can I say--what can Lovel say--in the face of such evidence as this?" "My pistol!" Chaskin took the weapon from Paul's hand, and looked at it in a startled way. "Yes, it is mine; my name is on it. Mr. Lovel! Mr. Mexton! how did you come by it?" "I received it from Gran Jimboy," said Paul. "And Gran Jimboy picked it up on the very spot where Milly's body was lying," added Lovel, "shortly after the shot was fired. How did it come there?" By this time Chaskin was the colour of paper; but there was a certain dignity in his answer. "I cannot tell you, gentlemen," he replied. "I did not lose it in the Winding Lane."