"You come at an inconvenient time, Mr. Mexton," he said, hurriedly. "I was engaged with a friend; but your writing here"--he touched the card--"hinted at a matter of such importance that I decided to see you." "I am sorry to interrupt you," replied Paul, taking the chair near the desk, "and you may be sure I should not have done so without a good reason." "I am sure of that," said Chaskin, still standing, "but I hope your reason is not connected with your duties to your journal." "No; it is connected with my friendship for the dead girl and for her father." "Dr. Lester. Ah, I am sorry for him, in spite of his vice of drinking. The loss of his daughter will be a great blow to him. Where is he now, Mr. Mexton?" "In his own house," said Paul, slowly, "under arrest." "Under arrest!" repeated the Vicar, staring at the young man. "For what?" "For the murder of his daughter." "Mr. Mexton!" The clergyman fell back into his chair as though he had been shot, and turned even paler. "Impossible!" he groaned; "impossible!" "Unfortunately, it is true," said Paul, sadly--"and on these grounds;" whereupon he rapidly detailed the evidence upon which Drek intended to obtain a warrant for arrest. Chaskin listened with clasped hands, the beads of perspiration bedewing his high forehead, and did not make any comment upon the intelligence until Paul had finished. Then he spoke slowly and with an effort. "It points to the guilt of the poor creature," said he, raising his head; "but for all that I cannot believe that Dr. Lester committed a crime so abhorrent to human nature." "I don't think he did it knowingly, Mr. Chaskin," replied Paul; "he declares that he remembers nothing of the events of the night. Might he not have killed his daughter while under the influence of drink? Not knowingly, as I say, but guided mechanically by his confused intelligence?" "No," cried Chaskin, with a negative gesture. "No--no. Impossible!" "Quite impossible," said a calm voice behind them. Paul turned his head to see who had interrupted their conversation, and at the side door beheld Darcy Herne. Evidently he was the visitor with whom Chaskin had been talking prior to the visit of the journalist. "Quite impossible," reiterated Herne, advancing into the room. "I agree with my friend, Mr. Mexton. Whosoever killed my poor Milly, it was not her miserable father."