"This is not the time for playing the fool," he said cuttingly. "You are a cunning rogue, but some day you will overreach yourself. Now, then, out with your lie." "Lie! I scorn to pervert the truth, reverend sir. I shall tell the truth _in puris naturalibus_." "I hope not," threw in the Rector, laughing, in spite of himself, at this abuse of quotation. "Which means, reverend sir," went on the old scoundrel coolly, "that in the hut on the heath I found the corpse of Dr. Warrender." "But not the body of my father," said Sophy. "No, but I saw that taken away from the vault. Undoubtedly, Miss Marlow, the body was carried to the hut for the purpose of dissection by Mr. Thorold. He was foolish enough to leave behind him evidence of his iniquitous purposes. Behold!" and Cicero produced a lancet in his most dramatic manner. "Nota bene," said he grandly. Phelps bent forward and took the instrument in his hand. It had an ivory handle, on which were carved two letters, "A. T." "You found this in the hut?" he asked. "I did, reverend sir. It must have been dropped by Mr. Thorold. If not, how did it come there? I pause for a reply." "Why did you not tell Mr. Thorold about this?" demanded Sophy. "I bided my time----" "To blackmail him!" she cried, with scorn. "A harsh word, Miss Sophia. Certainly I would have demanded a small payment from Mr. Thorold, had I shown him that. But Mr. Thorold insulted me, it matters not how. _Nemo me impune lacessit_, Miss Sophia, and I determined to punish the young man. My military friend was good enough to enter into partnership with me for the purpose of clearing up this matter, hence I told him of my discovery. There is no more to be said." "Save this," put in Lestrange, who appeared to be getting somewhat weary of Cicero's cumbersome diction, "that here is the proof that it was Thorold who carried off the body. Do you believe now in his guilt?" "I reserve my opinion," said the Rector, who could not but acknowledge to himself that things looked black for Alan. "I don't!" cried Sophy, rising. "If fifty men, with fifty lancets, came to tell me this story, I would not believe a word against Mr. Thorold. He can explain. I believe in him firmly, and, to prove my belief, I shall marry him as soon as I can." "You'll do nothing of the sort!" cried Lestrange, losing his temper. "I am your father, and I command you to come with me." "And I am my own mistress, and I refuse," she said quietly. "You can't frighten me. I don't believe your stories." "Nor do I," said the Rector. "When Mr. Thorold comes back, he will, no doubt, be able to explain his presence in Heathton on that night, and also the loss of his lancet." "He shall explain it to the police!" cried Lestrange, in a threatening manner. "No, no," said Cicero, apprehensive at this mention of his natural enemies; "let us take counsel together. Cannot this matter be adjusted, so that Mr. Thorold may escape the reward of his iniquitous proceedings?"