"No," said Alan, taking out the letter which had caused all this trouble; "it would not be wise. Remember what he says here: If the police are called in he will vanish, and we shall lose the information he seems willing to supply." "I don't think that, Mr. Thorold," said Miss Vicky. "This man evidently wants money, and is willing to tell the truth for the matter of a hundred pounds." "On account," remarked Thorold grimly; "as plain a case of blackmail as I ever heard of. Well, I suppose it is best to wait until we can communicate with this--what does he call himself?--Cicero Gramp, at Dixon's Rents, Lambeth. He can be arrested there, if necessary. What I want to do now is to find out if his story is true. To do this I must go at once to Heathton, see the Rector, and get the coffin opened." "I will come," insisted Sophy. "Oh, it is terrible to think that poor father was not allowed to rest quietly even in his grave." "Of course, it may not be true," urged Alan again. "I don't see how this tramp could have got to know of it." "Perhaps he helped to violate the secrets of the tomb?" suggested Miss Vicky. "In that case he would hardly put himself within reach of the law," Alan said, after a pause. "Besides, if the vault had been broken into we should have heard of it from Joe." "Why should it be broken into, Alan? The key----" "I have one key, and the Rector has the other. My key is in my desk at the Abbey Farm, and no doubt Phelps has his safe enough." "Your key may have been stolen." "It might have been," admitted Alan. "That is one reason why I am so anxious to get back to-night. We must find out also if the coffin is empty." "Yes, yes; let us go at once!" Sophy cried feverishly. "I shall never rest until I learn the truth. Come, Vicky, let us pack. When can we leave, Alan?" Thorold glanced at his watch. "In half an hour," he said. "We can catch the half-past six train. Can you be ready?" "Yes, yes!" cried she, and rushed out of the room. Miss Vicky was about to follow, but Alan detained her. "Give her a sedative or something," he said, "or she will be ill." "I will at once. Have a carriage at the door in a quarter of an hour, Mr. Thorold. We can be ready by then. I suppose it is best she should go?" "Much better than to leave her here. We must set her mind at rest. At this rate she will work herself into a fever." "But if this story should really be true?" "I don't believe it for a moment," replied Alan. But he was evidently uneasy, and could not disguise the feeling. "Wait till we get to Heathton--wait," and he hastily left the room. Miss Vicky was surprised at his agitation, for hitherto she had credited Alan with a will strong enough to conceal his emotions. The old lady hurried away to the packing, and shook her head as she went.