"You will find it really interesting," said Thorold encouragingly, and told his story in as concise a way as he could. The narrative was interrupted frequently by the Rector. When it was ended he was too much astonished to make any remark, and the other had to stir up his intelligence. "What do you think of it, sir?" "Really--bless me!--I hardly know. Do you believe it, Alan?" "There are so many things in it which I know to be true, that I can't help thinking the man is honest, in so far as his story goes," said Alan gloomily. "Whether Sophy is really his child I can't say. She is certainly very like him, and the certificate appears to be genuine. Again, Mr. Phelps, you heard Warrender call Marlow 'Beauchamp,' and, as I told you, a sum of two thousand a year is by Marlow's will to be paid to a Herbert Beauchamp. What if he should be Marlow himself?" "I can't--I won't believe it!" cried the Rector, rubbing his bald head. "The man is as dead as a doornail--you saw the corpse yourself, Alan. The body was put in a leaden casing, hermetically sealed, and that in a tightly-screwed-down oaken coffin. Even if Marlow had been in a trance--if that is what you mean--he could not have survived that! He would have died of suffocation--he would have been asphyxiated. Bless my soul! I don't believe it for one moment." "But how do you account for the income left to Herbert Beauchamp?" "He must be a relative," said the Rector. "But the same Christian name, Mr. Phelps? Still, of course, that is not impossible--he might be a relative. I will see the manager of the bank, and insist upon knowing the address of this man." "Supposing he won't give it?" "Then I shall call in the police. I must get to the bottom of this affair. Why should that body have been stolen?" "Perhaps Lestrange can tell you, Alan." The little parson jumped up in a state of wild excitement. "What if he should be the Quiet Gentleman--Brown?" "Impossible--he landed at Southampton only two days ago." "Oh! so he says, but you must find out if it is true." "I will examine the passenger-list of the last steamer." "It is strange," said the Rector--"strange that Marlow--let us call him Marlow--should have died so opportunely. If you remember, he was much worried by a West Indian letter he received a week before his death." "Yes; I believe that was written to warn him against Lestrange. To escape being arrested on a charge of murder, he--he--well, what did he do." "He didn't feign death, at all events," said Mr. Phelps. "Bless me, Alan! I know the feel and the look of a corpse. I've seen dozens! Besides, you studied for medicine--your knowledge must tell you----" "Yes, I could have sworn he was, as you say, dead as a doornail. Of course"--Alan cast about in his mind for some hypothesis--"that is--the shock of impending danger hinted at in that letter might have killed him. He died in a fit, sir, and died very suddenly." "Humph! You didn't attend him?"