"No, sir--Sophia Marlow she is, and Sophia Marlow she will remain until she changes her name for mine. Her father is dead, and Jean Lestrange has no claim on her. Sophia Marlow, Mr. Inspector, if you please." "Well, well--as you please. We shan't quarrel about a name. Have you anything to smoke, Mr. Thorold?" Alan got him an excellent cigar, and returned to the point. "Why did Joe keep me and Miss Marlow in the dark?" he asked. "Acted under orders, Mr. Thorold." "Whose orders?" "Mr. Marlow's, or rather, I should say Mr. Beauchamp's." "Blair!" Alan gasped out the name. His face was white and he was appalled at the news. For the moment he believed the inspector must have taken leave of his senses. "Oh, I dare say your astonishment is natural," said the inspector, lighting his cigar. "I was astonished myself to find the dead man alive and kicking. Yet I should not have been, for I suspected the truth." Alan had not yet recovered from his amazement. "You suspected that Mr. Marlow was alive!" he said faintly. "On what evidence?" "On circumstantial evidence," said Blair smartly. "When I examined the coffin with Mr. Phelps I noticed what he did not. At the sides small holes were bored in inconspicuous places, and the shell of the leaden case was pierced. Only one inference could be drawn from this--that the man had designedly been buried alive. The design must have been carried out by Warrender and the short man. I suspected Joe, from the fact of his having given that sovereign to Cicero, and I watched him. Presuming my belief to be correct, I made certain that sooner or later he would rejoin his master. As I say, he went to Brighton. I followed close on his heels to a boarding-house in Lansdowne Place. There I saw Mr. Marlow." "Did he recognize you?" "Of course. While he was living at Heathton I had seen Mr. Marlow several times on business. He made no attempt when I saw him at Brighton to disguise himself--not thinking, I suppose, that his clever scheme to frustrate Lestrange would come to light in this way." "But, Blair, you did not know about Lestrange then!" "True enough; but I soon heard the whole story. Mr. Marlow told it to me himself. As you may guess, he was in a great way about my having discovered him, and seeing no means of evading the truth, he told it. I insisted upon it, in fact; and now I know all." "And how did it come about?" Blair held up his hand. "No, Mr. Thorold," said he, "I shall leave Mr. Marlow--I think we had better continue to call him so--to tell his own history. He can do it better than I. Besides," added the inspector, rising briskly, "I have business to do." "What sort of business?" "You can judge for yourself. I want you to come with me." "Where--what to do?"