"O God!" Lester clasped his hands together in an angonised way. "Do you think I killed her?" "I do," said Drek. "I firmly believe it--so much so that I intend to arrest you on the evidence." Dr. Lester shook all over, made an attempt to speak, and fell fainting on the floor. In the minds of the three spectators there was no doubt of his guilt. He had gone out to kill Lovel; and by mistake, or mischance, he had killed his own daughter. The assassin of Milly Lester was her own father. CHAPTER VII. AT THE VICARAGE. From Poverty Villa, with its guilty occupant, Paul wandered through the village, into the neighbourhood of The Herne Arms. A crowd of people, more or less excited, filled the tap-room of the inn, and the space before it. Many were drinking ale at the bar, others idled outside in the street, and all were vigorously discussing the tragedy and surmising as to who was the criminal. Some hinted at Lovel, a known admirer of the dead girl; others boldly accused a nameless tramp of the crime, and declared that robbery was the motive for its committal; but no one had the courage or the fancy to hint at the possible guilt of the drunken father. Such an idea, owing to the relationship, was too monstrous to be entertained even by the most imaginative. Paul, with unusual caution--for ordinarily he was an impulsive man--said nothing, but wandered from group to group, gathering opinions but offering none in exchange. There was no need for him to conjecture the name of the assassin. He knew that Dr. Lester had committed the crime, and that before twelve hours elapsed he would be arraigned on circumstantial evidence; perhaps, if his conscience proved trustworthy, on his own confession. Great as had been the horror inspired by the murder, the arrest of the wretched father of the victim would enhance that horror four-fold. Mexton knew this, but out of sheer humanity for the miserable criminal he held his peace. The crowd babbled on, discussed the affair over their tankards, and looked up with awe at the windows, the drawn curtains of which notified that the dead body of Milly Lester was lying within. Policemen guarded the door of the room and the approach to the stairs, so that no one could enter. Paul Mexton had little desire to do so; he did not wish to see the still white face, which he had last beheld full of life and beauty and girlish vanity. Sick at heart, he turned away from inn and crowd and all the chatter of the market-place, to take his way to the Vicarage. On arriving there he inquired for Mr. Chaskin.