"I did. I went on board my yacht and told Joe all. Of course, he believed in my innocence, and strongly advised me to leave at once. We sailed down the coast of South America, round the Horn, and home to England. I called myself Richard Marlow, and I sold the yacht under another name at a French seaport. I had plenty of money, and there was no one who suspected my past." "I suppose the news of the murder had not reached England?" "No. I believe there was a casual reference in one of the papers, but that was all. The yacht was supposed to have foundered. I felt secure from pursuit, and determined to start a new life. I gave out that Marie was my daughter, and I called her Sophy. Then I placed her in the convent at Hampstead, with a sum of money for her education, and besides that, I secured a certain sum on her for life in case of my death. When this was settled I went to Africa. There Fortune, tired of persecuting me, gave me smiles instead of frowns. I made a fortune in the gold-mines, and became celebrated as Richard Marlow the millionaire. The rest of my story you know." "Up to a point," said Alan significantly. "I know how you bought this place and settled here with Sophy. But the letter from Barkham----" "Ah! Joe told you about that, did he?" said Beauchamp composedly. "Yes, the letter was from an old friend of mine called Barkham. He told me that Jean Lestrange had recognized my portrait in an illustrated paper, and that he intended to come to England to hunt me down. The letter was sent to the office of the paper, and by them forwarded here. You may guess my feelings. I thought myself lost. I showed the letter to Warrender, and he suggested that I should feign death. I jumped at the idea, made a will, allowing myself an income under my true name of Herbert Beauchamp, got another key of the vault fashioned from the one which afterwards was taken to Phelps, and took Joe into my confidence. Then Warrender drugged me." "What did he give you?" asked Alan. "You looked really dead." "I can't tell you the name of the drug. He said it was some vegetable preparation used by the negroes. Then I died--apparently--and I was buried. They had bored holes in the coffin, and that night, when you were all absent, Joe and Warrender took me out of the vault and carried me to the hut on the heath, where Warrender revived me. It was while he was doing this that he heard a noise, and ran out. He never came back, and when I was myself again we went out to find his body. He was quite dead, stabbed to the heart, and lying some distance from the hut. Who killed him I do not know." "But how did his body get into the vault?" "Joe did it. After he had got me away, he dragged the body into the hut, and next night came back and took it to the vault. He put it into the coffin, never dreaming that any one would look for it there. Nor would they, and all would have been well had it not been for that man Cicero Gramp. He saw too much, and----"