"Well, Drek may arrest you yet," said Paul, raising his eyebrows. "You must be aware, Mr. Lovel, that your actions are very suspicious." "Because I told a lie to screen myself from possible danger?" "Yes; and because you induced Gran Jimboy to lie also. Though how you induced her to perjure herself I can't guess." "I'll explain if you like," said Lovel coldly. "I see that I must tell the truth sooner or later, and I would rather make you my father confessor than Drek. I run less risk of arrest, you see." "I don't know, Lovel. If I think you guilty I shall certainly have you arrested." "My good, sir," cried Lovel with irony, "if I were guilty of murder I should have left this neighbourhood long ago! My staying here proves my innocence." "I'll wait to hear your story before agreeing to that." "Very good, Mexton. You shall hear my story, and in addition I will tell you all that took place in the Winding Lane on the night poor, dear Milly was killed. Then," added Lovel with emphasis, "you will be as puzzled as I am." "Puzzled by what?" "By the mystery of the case. Who killed Milly I can't tell you; and if I cannot no one else can." "I don't understand--" began Paul, when Lovel cut him short. "Do not let us waste any more time," he said impatiently. "Hear my confession, as you may call it, and judge for yourself." He paused, passed his hand across his forehead, and in a moment or so continued, "My name is Lucas Lovel, as you know, and I came down here some eight or ten months ago to sketch and paint. Who I am I knew no more than yourself until three weeks ago." "About the time of the murder?" interjected Mexton. "Yes," assented Lovel, bending his head. "There was a mystery about my birth. I did not know where I was born, or who were my father and mother. I was brought up by an old maiden aunt in London, and she resolutely refused to tell me about my parentage. I was educated at an excellent school, and as I wished to be an artist I was sent to the studio of a celebrated painter to study. Afterwards I went abroad, to Paris and Rome, whence I was recalled two years ago by the death of my guardian. By her will I inherited her house in Clapham, and some two hundred pounds a year--enough to keep me from starving, but not enough to give me the luxuries of life. About a year ago I became acquainted with Catinka and her mad schemes for freeing Poland. At her house I met Herne." "You met Herne?" echoed Paul, much interested. "I did; and I thought he was as mad in his own way as Catinka was in hers. However, we became friends, and he asked me down to Barnstead. As you are aware, I stayed with him for some time; but we quarrelled because I admired Miss Lester too much, and I left his house to take up my abode in these rooms, where I have been since. It was my love for Milly which kept me here, in this dull neighbourhood." "I know; but it would have been more honourable had you gone," said Mexton, reprovingly.