"No. I was afraid I might get into trouble, so I ran in the opposite direction. I slept the rest of the night in a hayrick far from the churchyard. Next day I sought the Moat House kitchen, and listened to the talk of the servants. Then I went away with the idea of seeing Miss Marlow at Bournemouth, as the servants said she was there with Mr. Thorold. On the moor I saw a hut. I went into it to eat a frugal meal. In it I found"--Cicero paused to give his words due effect--"a corpse." "Whose corpse?" "That of the man who had assisted to steal the body, Clara Maria. Your husband, Dr. Warrender!" "You liar!" shrieked the widow, making a bound at him. "Oh, you liar!" Alan flung himself between these affectionate relatives, or it might have fared badly with Cicero. "Hold hard, Mrs. Warrender!" he said, holding her back; "let us listen." "Listen to his lies! Do you hear that he says my husband stole Mr. Marlow's body?" "So he did," said Cicero doggedly. "I'm telling you what I shall tell to the police. The tall man was Dr. Warrender. I saw his face in the lantern-light. Who the short man was I do not know." "How did you recognize Dr. Warrender?" demanded Alan, when Mrs. Warrender had sat down again. "I didn't know him at the time; but I had his description from the servants." "Tall, yellow beard, bald head?" said Thorold rapidly. "Yes, that was the man who assisted to remove the body, and that is the description of the corpse I found in the hut." "My husband's body was found in the vault, you liar!" cried the widow. "Was it, Clara Maria? Well, all I can say is I don't know how it got there. I left it in the hut myself." "Why did you not give information to the police?" "What! And get locked up on suspicion of murder? No, thank you, Mr. Thorold. I ran away from that corpse as I would have done from the devil." "Whose child you are," said his sister bitterly. "Don't miscall your own father, Clara Maria. Well, sir, I went on to Bournemouth, and wrote two letters, one to Miss Marlow, and one to my sister, although I did not know she was my sister then. Had I known I had a relative in Heathton," said Cicero with pathos, "I should have asked for a bed." "And your sister, Billy Spinks, would have set the dogs on you." "I am sure you would, Clara Maria. You were always one for sentimental scenes." "Tell me, Gramp, is this all you know of these crimes?" put in Alan. "All, Mr. Thorold. I think, sir, it is worth fifty pounds." "Humph! We'll see what the police say. You have no objection, I suppose, to come with me to Heathton and repeat this story?" "Having a clear conscience," said Cicero, with a superior smile, "I can safely say that I have not. But the fifty, Mr. Thorold?" "Will be paid after you have told Blair this story." "If you are so poor," put in Mrs. Warrender, "where did you get money to buy that writing-paper? It was costly paper."