"I--a layman! My dear sir, Warrender attended him." "And Warrender was his bosom friend in Jamaica. Alan, Warrender must have recognized him as Beauchamp--must have known Sophy was not his daughter--must have known that he had been accused of murder in Jamaica." "Quite so," said Alan composedly, "and so Mrs. Warrender's diamonds are accounted for. He blackmailed Marlow. I can see it plainly." "Then the murder of--of Warrender?" whispered the Rector, with a look of terror. "Ah! we are still in the dark about that. Marlow, being dead, could not have killed him. Humph! I wonder if Lestrange is the Quiet Gentleman after all!" "Alan!" said Phelps suddenly. "Joe Brill!" "What about him?" "Do you think he is guilty? He was devoted to his master. Warrender possessed his master's secret, and Joe might have killed him, and have run away to escape arrest." Alan shook his head. "There was no suspicion against Joe," he said. "Why should he have run away?" "His guilty conscience, perhaps." "A man who had nerve enough to commit such a murder and take the corpse of his victim back to the vault wouldn't have any conscience to speak of. Besides, the boy who slept in Joe's room says he was not out on that night." "No, no--of course not," said the Rector. "Then it can't be Joe. Well, I give it up!" "I don't," said Alan grimly. "I go to London to-morrow to solve the mystery." This he did. He left next morning and was away for three days, leaving Mr. Phelps to console and protect Sophy from any annoyance on the part of Lestrange, who remained in the village. The Captain propitiated Mrs. Timber by the payment of a week's board and lodging in advance, and this was enough to convince the landlady that he was a most estimable person. Naturally enough, he and Cicero Gramp came into contact, and, equally naturally, Cicero did his best to find out what business the Captain had in Heathton. But this was no easy task, for Lestrange was guarded in speech, and did not at first encourage his advances, judging very truly that Mr. Gramp was a scoundrel, and could be dangerous. But finally he decided that the gentleman in broadcloth, if properly handled, could be converted into a useful tool, and he determined to make use of him in that capacity. The intimacy began one night when Cicero, having taken more than was good for him, allowed his tongue to wag more freely than usual. Lestrange thus became aware that it could dispense useful knowledge. "I tell you what it is, my noble Captain," said Cicero, with drunken gravity, "you are a clever man--I am another. Why shouldn't we get that reward by working together?" "Really, my friend, I hardly see what I can do. I am a stranger here." "That's why we ought to work together. You are not in these parts for nothing. The gossip of servants--ah!" Gramp looked significantly at Lestrange. "Oh, I heard how you were turned out of the Moat House." "What do you mean, my dear friend?" asked the Captain, in silky tones.