By this time Alan and the inspector were walking along the road which led to Heathton. It was a bright, sunny morning, and Alan was in high spirits. How happy Blair's news would make Sophy! "And Warrender, what about his death?" he asked. "Does Marlow know who killed him?" "Strange as it may seem, he does not, Mr. Thorold. He is as ignorant as you or I. That death is a mystery still." "But if Warrender was killed on the heath----" "I can't explain, Mr. Thorold. Hear Marlow's story, and you will be as much in the dark as I am. But I suspect Lestrange." "So did I," replied Alan, speaking in the past tense. "But I learned for certain that Lestrange was not in England on the night of the murder." "I proved that, too," said Blair thoughtfully; "yet I can't help thinking there is some trickery. Lestrange is at the Good Samaritan?" "Yes, dancing on Miss Marlow's doorstep in the hope of getting money." "Does he receive any letters?" "I don't know. Why?" "Merely an idea of mine. I'll tell you later on what I think." "You are keeping me very much in the dark, Blair," said Alan, somewhat piqued. "I don't care to show incomplete work," replied the inspector bluntly. "I believe I can unravel the whole of this mystery, but I don't want to show you the raw material. Let me work it out my own way, Mr. Thorold, and judge me by the result." "As you please. So long as you do it, I don't care how you go about it." "I am working for two thousand pounds," said Blair, "and I don't intend to let any one else have it. That blackguard tramp would like to be the man." Alan laughed. "He has already made a clutch at it by accusing me of the theft of Mr. Marlow's body." The inspector nodded and smiled grimly. "The two are working in unison," said he, rubbing his hands; "but I'll catch them." "By the way," said Thorold, "is Mr. Marlow coming back here?" "To be caught by Lestrange? No, I think not. He is not such a fool. If you want to see him, you must go to Brighton." "I shall go to-morrow, Blair. I am most anxious to hear the story of that night." "A strange story--more like fiction than truth." "Truth is always stranger than fiction." Blair assented. They walked on through a steep lane, which led into the High Street of the village. As they breasted this, Mrs. Marry, with a basket on her arm, met them. She was evidently excited. "Well, Mrs. Marry," said Alan kindly, "what is it?" "The poor dear isn't dead, after all," cried the panting woman. "I declare, Mr. Thorold, you could ha' knocked me down wi' a feather when I saw him." "Saw who?" "Why, Mr. Brown, sir--the Quiet Gentleman. He has come back!" CHAPTER XX. THE AMAZEMENT OP ALAN THOROLD Mrs. Marry delivered her startling piece of news with an air of triumph. She did not guess for one moment how very important it was, or in what peril it placed the Quiet Gentleman.