"No; that is quite another thing. I admit that I was in Heathton on that night when Jarks saw me. What I came for does not concern you, Captain Lestrange; but I can prove also that I was back in Bournemouth before twelve o'clock. You will observe that I can establish an alibi." "Upon my word, I really believed you guilty!" cried the Captain with sincerity. "No doubt," was the scornful reply. "The wish is father to the thought. I will thank you not to accuse me falsely again." "You have to explain away the finding of the lancet." "That was stolen from my desk, with the key of the vault, by a man called Brown, whom I believe to have been guilty of a crime. You need not try to fasten the guilt upon me! I can defend myself--to use your favorite phrase--in open court, if necessary." "Your word is enough," protested Lestrange. "I was wrong to accuse you!" "Very wrong. You did it out of spite----" "No, no! I really believed----" "What you wished yourself to believe," interrupted Alan in his turn. "It was my intention to have given you a thrashing, Captain Lestrange----" "Sir!" the man started up white with rage. "But I have changed my mind," pursued Alan, without noticing the interruption. "I now intend to take another course. If you do not at once leave Heathton, I shall bring a charge against you of defamation of character." "Oh!" Lestrange shrugged his shoulders. "You are a true English shop-keeper. A man should protect himself by more honorable means." "I know very well what I am about, sir. I wish to bring you into contact with the law. For that reason--unless you go--I shall bring the action." "And what can the law do to me?" he asked defiantly. "I have committed no wrong." "You intend to. Oh! I know that you are innocent of taking Marlow's body, and of murdering Warrender. But you are here to blackmail Miss Marlow on the threat of proclaiming her dead father a murderer." "I am here to claim my daughter!" shouted Lestrange fiercely. "Sophia Marlow I know nothing of; but Marie Lestrange is the daughter of Achille Lestrange, and I"--the Captain struck his breast--"I am he!" While he was still posing in a very effective attitude, the door opened, and Mrs. Timber ushered in Joe Brill. Hardly had it closed, when Brill took a step forward, staring at Lestrange as though he had seen a vision. Lestrange turned white, this time not with rage but with fear. In the silence which ensued Alan looked from one to the other, wondering what revelation was about to be made. Joe was the first to speak. "You swab!" cried Joe. "D----d if it ain't Captain Jean!" CHAPTER XVIII. A PORTION OF THE TRUTH Joe was not in the least changed. Wherever he had been, in whatever nefarious transactions he had been engaged, he was still the mahogany-colored, tough old sailor whom nothing could surprise or alarm. After having greeted Lestrange he hitched up his trousers in true nautical style and touched his forehead.