dick's remark when he brought news of the rotherhithe crime, that there were more romantic than commonplace events to be found in present-day life, seemed to be verified by what had taken place. a hidden treasure, a riddle in gems and gold, a mysterious murder, a melodramatic indian, and the necessary pair of lovers to spice the whole--these were certainly details out of which to weave a tale worthy of more highly-colored days. and destiny who was relating the story to an interested world was doing her best to involve her characters in a whirl of unhappy things. for even if sorley were arrested and confessed his guilt and suffered punishment, the story--as alan considered--would by no means be ended, since the jewels had to be discovered and detained from the clutch of morad-bakche. marie had to be comforted and married, and miss grison--the atê of the tale--had to be appeased. there was a great deal yet to be done before things could be settled, and fuller, as the hero of fate's fiction, felt that he ought to do something towards bringing about a necessary climax. but as yet he could not see his way to do anything.

and to make matters worse, latimer next day arrived with the news that sorley had disappeared. on the previous day inspector moon had been duly told the story, and the evidence of sorley's complicity had been placed under his official eye. with the joyful feeling that here was a case which would reflect credit on him if dexterously managed, moon procured a warrant, and took the night train to lewes. about midnight he arrived at the monastery, only to learn that sorley had gone away early in the day, and neither marie, nor the three trents, were able to tell the inspector whither he had departed. hastily packing a small bag, and wearing an unpretentious tweed suit, the suspected man had vanished from the monastery and belstone on his motor bicycle. moon, having acted immediately on latimer's information, was furious at the escape, and could not understand how the man had been warned. henny trent however threw some light on the darkness of this point by stating that mr. sorley had been visited by a small boy with light hair and blue eyes. the urchin had not been seen since the departure of marie's uncle, so it was presumed that he had left earlier. in disgust at his bad luck, moon installed an officer in the house to watch for the possible return of sorley, and had come back in the morning to london, where he informed dick that the bird had flown. now latimer had come in the afternoon to the chancery lane office to explain to his friend.

alan was much surprised to hear that sorley had been warned, and from a suspicious look in dick's eyes fancied that latimer suspected him. "i did not break my promise," he protested sharply and stiffly and unasked.

"no one suggested that you did," growled the reporter, who was annoyed that the criminal--as he truly considered sorley--had escaped.

"your eyes suggest quite enough," retorted fuller, hurt by the suspicion, "and you should know me better, dick, than to think that i broke faith."

latimer flushed. "i'm sorry, alan, but i really did have some such thought, although i see now that it was unwarranted. but you had every temptation to save the man, seeing that he is miss inderwick's uncle."

"you should have known me better," persisted fuller stubbornly. "i gave my promise, and i kept it."

"i am sure you did." latimer extended his hand. "forgive me alan."

the other gripped it. "of course. a vague suspicion such as you have entertained won't spoil our friendship. and yet, dick," he added, when they had both cooled down, "i am not exactly surprised, now i think over bakche's last words."

"bakche, the indian? has he been to see you?"

"yesterday. he came as a client, and confessed much of what we already know."

"then my sixth sense?----"

"oh, hang your sixth sense. we agreed that it was right when i related mrs. verwin's story. bakche's yarn is merely corroborative. he did find the history of the peacock in some family papers, and did come to look up belstone village to see if he could get the peacock and find the treasure, and yesterday he came to me to ask if i would engineer the job."

"hum! you refused, i expect."

"i should jolly well think so, dicky. bakche claims the treasure, as he says that the begum of kam had no right to give it away. he wants to find the assassin of grison, and recover the bird and read the riddle."

"does he know that sorley is the culprit?"

"he didn't yesterday, whatever he knows now. i declined to receive him as a client saying that i was working for marie, and intended to give her the treasure when it was discovered."

"will it ever be discovered?" questioned latimer skeptically.

alan sighed. "lord knows! i have been trying my hardest to read some meaning into the sketch i made, but so far i have failed."

"we'll have a look at it together," said dick encouragingly, "my sixth sense may help you where others have not been able to arrive at any conclusion. i owe you that much for having suspected you had broken faith with me, even for a moment," and dick looked very repentant.

"oh, that's all right, old man," said alan heartily "seeing that i love marie so much it was natural you should credit me with trying to spare her pain by getting her uncle saved. but i thought it was best to let the law take its course, as in any case if he was saved now, he would only be discovered and arrested later on."

"i suppose you and bakche are enemies now?"

"he gave me to understand that he would do his best to get the better of me," remarked fuller a trifle dryly, "and then like a fool, he gave me a hint as to who knew the truth."

"i don't think i should take that hint coming from such a quarter," said dick reflectively, "who knows the truth according to bakche?"

"jotty!"

"h'm. he may be right after all, although it is odd he should give you a chance to outrun him in this way. i always did think that jotty knew more than was good for him. of course he gave sorley warning."

"of course," assented fuller quickly; "only jotty could have been the blue-eyed, fair-haired lad, who called to see the man. he disappeared from thimble square, as bakche told me, the day before yesterday, so i expect he saw the news about the peacock in that paper, and bolted to warn sorley."

"but why should he do that?" asked latimer with a puzzled air; "he evidently told miss grison--guessing the fact from the drawing you showed him--that sorley had the bird. and on account of that, miss grison related what she did to the interviewer. but i can't understand why jotty having brought about the trouble, should try to save sorley from it."

alan shook his head. "it is impossible to say, unless we can get hold of the boy again and make him speak out. he may return to miss grison----"

"no," said dick decisively, "he won't. she has done her best to get sorley into trouble, and won't thank jotty for giving him warning. i wonder where he has gone?"

"jotty?"

"and sorley; both of them. moon has left a detective at the monastery on the off-chance that miss inderwick's uncle may return. but i don't think he will. probably he has taken those jewels of his own, you spoke of, and has left the country."

"it looks as though he were guilty," observed alan with a groan.

"it does," assented latimer quickly; "but it is just as well that he has got away, and so avoided arrest and trial, and probably hanging. i don't expect you'll set eyes on him again or on jotty either, as maybe he has taken the lad with him."

"why should he do that?"

"jotty--as i always suspected--knows too much, and sorley wants to get him out of the way."

"it is too late," replied fuller doubtfully. "jotty has given us the letter, and has told us enough to hang sorley unless the man has a very good defence. probably he hasn't any, else he would have stood his ground. oh, my poor marie, how dreadful it is for you to have a criminal for an uncle."

dick patted alan's shoulder. "see here, old son," he remarked with rough sympathy, "i was annoyed when i heard that the man had bolted. now i am very glad for your sake. as i said you won't hear of sorley again. so go to work and solve the riddle of the peacock; marry marie and tell bakche he can go back to india with his tail between his legs."

"but sorley has probably taken the bird with him."

"what does that matter? you have the drawing, and can solve the riddle from that, as you have always expected to do. the mystery of grison's death is an open secret now, alan, my boy, so let the past bury itself, and look forward to your marriage with the girl, and possession of the treasure."

fuller nodded in an absent-minded way, but did not reply. before he could make up his mind what to say, there came a knock at the door, and seymour, who was the solicitor's one and only clerk, appeared with the intelligence that a lady wished to see his employer. thinking that this was a client, latimer moved into the outer office, only to come face to face with marie. the girl looked ill, and all the bright color of her face had faded to a dull white, while there were dark circles under her eyes.

"miss inderwick," cried dick in amazement, and, on hearing the name, alan appeared at the door with a look of equal astonishment. the last thing in the world expected by either man was the visit to london of marie.

"my dear girl, what are you doing here?" questioned alan in tones of alarm when he saw her pale face and anxious eyes. "come in, dick, close the door," and shortly the three were in the private office, and seymour had received orders to admit no one.

"i had to come up, alan," said marie, clinging to his sleeve. "oh, my dear, it is dreadful. last night a policeman came with others, and they say that uncle ran murdered mr. grison. but it's not true, i am sure it is not true," and marie burst into tears.

"i can't say if it is or not, dear," replied alan uneasily, and kneeling by the side of the chair she dropped into. "but--but mr. sorley has not been arrested has he?"

"no," wailed marie, "and that is what makes me so afraid. some boy came in the afternoon, and uncle ran went away on the motor bicycle, after giving me twenty pounds and saying that he would not return for a few days. the boy left the house also; i suppose so, although neither i nor henny nor granny nor jenny saw him go. if uncle ran were innocent he wouldn't run away, i'm sure. oh, alan, what is to be done? i can't stay in the house, and as i had the money i came up to ask your advice."

"dear," said fuller, placing his arm around her waist tenderly, "the best thing for you to do is to return to the monastery and wait."

"but i'm all by myself alan, and that horrid detective person is staying in the house. i can't stop on there alone."

"the girls and their grandmother are there, darling."

"oh, but what use are they. i want you," she leaned her head on his shoulder, weeping profusely.

"but i can't come and stop in the monastery while your uncle is away, my dearest girl," cried alan much distressed; "people would talk. suppose you go and stay with my mother for a time."

"but if i did i should have to tell her the truth," wept marie; "and how can i say that uncle ran did what he didn't do."

"it has to come out sooner or later, miss inderwick," remarked dick in a voice full of regret, for the girl's tears made him feel ashamed of having brought about the catastrophe.

"what has to come out?"

"the fact that mr. sorley murdered----"

marie sprang to her feet and the color flew to her wan cheeks. "i don't believe it; i don't, i don't, i don't," she said almost fiercely. "uncle ran has his faults, and never did care much for me, besides using my income and being nasty to alan because he loved me. but he would never kill anyone, i am sure, mr. latimer. what miss grison says in that paper is a lie."

"oh," cried fuller quickly, "you saw that paper?"

"yes; the latest news! that boy brought it to uncle ran, for i saw him give it through the window of the library while i was walking on the terrace. uncle ran left it behind in his hurry, and----"

"he left in a hurry?" asked dick suddenly.

"yes. he told me that he had received bad news and would be away for a time and that i was to use the money--the twenty pounds i mean--to keep things going."

"did he say anything about returning?"

"no. he was in such a hurry that he had no time to say much. and then very late at night there was a ring at the door, and henny went down to find a man with another man who said they had come to arrest uncle ran for murder. i had to get up and answer questions, and then one man went away while the other stayed. he's at the monastery now," cried marie with a fresh burst of tears, "and i haven't been in bed all night. henny made me lie down for a time this morning, and then i came up by the midday train to see you, alan. oh, what does it all mean?"

alan glanced at his friend, for the situation was very painful. he opened his mouth to speak, but could not, while marie looked at him so appealingly. dick, more hardened to the world, and not being in love, solved the question, as to frank speech or silence.

"miss inderwick," he said bluntly, "believe me i am very sorry for you in every way, but it is just as well that you should know the truth. what miss grison says in that interview is true. the holder of the peacock is the person who murdered grison for its possession."

"but not uncle ran, not uncle ran!" she pleaded anxiously.

"i fear so," said latimer turning away his head; "he has the peacock."

"it's not true, it's not true, alan----"

"i fear it is, marie," said the young man sadly. "i saw the peacock myself in your uncle's hands when i was down at belstone for christmas."

"oh! and you never told me."

"i did not wish you to learn the truth, and tried to keep it from you. but since the matter has been made public, you have become acquainted with what has happened, and the flight of mr. sorley seems to suggest a guilty conscience. i hope he is innocent, but----"

"he is innocent," interrupted marie with the tears streaming down her face; "nothing will ever make me believe that uncle ran murdered anyone. how did he account for possession of the peacock?"

"he declared that miss grison must have left it in the cupboard where it had been stored twenty years ago."

"on that occasion when she came and walked all over the house; when we found her sitting in the library?"

"yes."

"well then," said marie triumphantly, "uncle ran is innocent, and miss grison is a wicked woman to say that whosoever holds the peacock murdered her brother, since she had herself----"

"but, miss inderwick," broke in dick, "we cannot be sure if mr. sorley's explanation is a true one."

"it is; i am sure it is. but what does miss grison say?"

"we have not questioned her yet."

"then i shall question her," cried marie, starting to her feet with a very determined air, "she shall confess to me that she brought the peacock to the monastery so as to get uncle ran into trouble. she always hated him, and you heard yourself, alan, what she said on that day. she is mad, she is mad. uncle ran said as much, and now i quite believe him."

"dear marie," said fuller, taking her hand, "let us hope for the best. you may be certain that for your sake i shall do my best to prove your uncle's innocence. but there is no doubt that the evidence against him is very strong, and his flight seems to prove that the charge is true."

"i don't believe it," said miss inderwick obstinately, and sitting down again to tap a vexed foot on the ground. "uncle ran will come back again with an explanation. i'm sure he will."

"let us hope so," murmured latimer skeptically; "but i doubt it."

"as to the evidence against him--what is it, alan?"

he told her, relating jotty's discovery of the letter, and showed her a copy of the same, which he had taken before dick passed on the original to inspector moon. "so you see, marie," he ended, when she was in full possession of the painful facts, "that it seems almost certain----"

"i don't care what it seems," interrupted marie in her wilful feminine way, "uncle ran never murdered that wretched grison."

"then why didn't he remain and say so?" asked dick sharply.

"he will explain that when he returns," she retorted in a lofty tone. "in the meantime we must learn the truth."

"we know the truth," latimer replied.

marie stamped. "how horrid of you to take it for granted that uncle ran killed this man. i say he didn't, and nothing you say, or alan says, will convince me that he did."

"i say nothing," put in fuller quickly; "things look black against mr. sorley, but i wish to give him the benefit of the doubt."

marie flew at him and threw her arms round his neck. "bless you, alan, for the words you have spoken. i am not very fond of uncle ran as you know, but i am sure he is innocent and you must try and prove his innocence."

"i shall do my best, darling, if you will leave the matter in my hands and return to belstone."

"no, alan don't ask me to. i want to go down to rotherhithe."

"what for?" asked dick surprised.

marie looked at him disdainfully, for she gathered very plainly that he was not on her side. "to ask questions of that woman who keeps the house where mr. grison was murdered."

"mother slaig? oh, my dear miss inderwick you can't go and see her. she is a virago, and her house is most disreputable. besides she cannot help you, as she gave her evidence at the inquest----"

"and didn't accuse uncle ran at all," interrupted marie. "i shall get at the truth if i see her."

"marie," said alan quickly, "you can't go down to rotherhithe."

"i can and i shall," cried miss inderwick with another stamp, and looked like a small goddess of war. "uncle ran shan't be hanged for what he never did, if i can help it."

"so long as he keeps away he cannot be caught to be hanged," said alan in a pacific manner, for it was necessary to deal in a wary manner with the infuriated girl. "meanwhile i shall look into the matter and do my best to clear his character. if you go to see mother slaig, you may prevent mr. sorley's innocence from being proved."

"but i want to help," cried marie, weeping again; "he is my uncle."

"you shall help," said alan, taking her in his arms, "when i know in what way you can aid us. marie, doesn't everyone in the village know about the accusation of your uncle, and that a detective is in the house?"

"yes. it's horrid. everyone is talking about it."

"then you can have no hesitation in going to my mother and father and in laying the true facts of the case before them. my mother will surely ask you to stay at the vicarage, so remain there while i look into the matter, dearest. believe me it is the best course to take."

"then i shall do what you want me to do. but tell me, alan, when it is necessary for me to come into the matter. i must have a hand in proving the innocence of uncle ran."

"i promise you, that as soon as i require your aid i shall ask for it."

satisfied with this promise, marie dried her tears, and then asked alan to get her something to eat, as she was very hungry, and it was now close on five o'clock. her lover put on his hat and coat and took her out to a restaurant near at hand, where she made a fairly good meal. dick came with them, as he did not wish marie to go away with the impression that he was hostile to the accused man.

"believe me, miss inderwick," he said when they were at the table, "no one will be more pleased to hear of your uncle's innocence than i shall be."

"you believe that he is guilty?"

"well, the facts are against him, but i shall adopt alan's line and give him the benefit of the doubt. when we face miss grison she may exonerate him. it is not likely, since she hates him for some reason, but----"

"she won't, she won't; and i don't care if she doesn't, mr. latimer. in some other way we must save uncle ran. will you see her?"

"this very evening," promised dick earnestly. "and so shall i," said alan suddenly. "hope for the best, darling."

"yes," sobbed marie, who felt better after her meal, but still was unable to restrain her tears, for the poor girl was greatly shaken, "but is it not terrible, alan?"

"very, my dear. but you must be a heroine and keep up, for your uncle's sake. now we must take a taxi to victoria, and you can catch the something after six train to lewes. there is one about this time, i know. have you enough money to take a fly to belstone, dear. no, don't take a fly. on second thoughts i shall wire to my father to send his trap to meet you; that will be best."

"but the trouble, alan," faltered the girl as he handed her into the taxi.

"it's no trouble. dick, will you come, or----"

"i am coming of course," said dick, bestowing his burly form in the taxi. "i don't want miss inderwick to go away with the idea that i'm a beast."

"i'm sure i never said so," sighed marie, "and if i was rude, mr. latimer, you must put it down to my being so upset."

"my dear young lady, you are right to stand up for your uncle, and i have nothing but praise for your conduct. with all my heart i trust that he will return again to face the accusation and prove his innocence."

"thank you," replied marie softly, and gave him her hand. then she sat close to her lover, and the three spoke very little until the station was reached. here alan sent a telegram to his father, and placed the girl in the train. he bought her a first-class ticket, and asked the guard to look after her comfort, as he did not like the idea of such an unsophisticated damsel travelling all alone. her freak of coming to london so unexpectedly, though natural enough under the circumstances, caused him great anxiety, and he heaved a sigh of relief when the train steamed out of the station. marie would be looked after by the guard as far as lewes, and then the rev. john fuller would meet her and take the stray lamb to the vicarage, where his wife would console her. dick laughed when he heard his worried friend sigh so thankfully.

"all's well that ends well, my son," he said, clapping the young man on the back, "and miss inderwick has behaved like a heroine."

"i daresay; but i hope she won't come to london again, as she is not used to being by herself, and may get into trouble."

"she certainly will," said dick grimly, "if she goes to see mother slaig in that rotherhithe slum."

"oh, i shall see to it that she does not go. well, i am tired, dick. are you coming home, or have you business to attend to?"

"i'm coming with you," responded the big man, affectionately, taking out his pipe, as the presence of marie had hitherto prevented his indulging in a smoke, and he felt the need of the soothing weed. "i have nothing to do this evening--nothing particular that is--so i may as well have a few quiet hours at home, and talk this case over with you."

"there's nothing to talk about."

"well, i don't know. it seems to me that the indian is mixed up in the business somehow. from what you describe i believe that he guessed baldwin grison had the peacock."

"i thought so myself, but then if he had killed the man and got the peacock he wouldn't have sent it to sorley."

on the way to fleet street and barker's inn they went over the same old ground, but without coming to any definite conclusion. besides the strain of the last few days was telling on both men, and they felt very weary. it was with a sigh of relief that they arrived at the dark cobblestone court and mounted the crooked staircase. alan used his latchkey and admitted both himself and dick into their chambers. when they entered the sitting-room they received a surprise and a shock. in a chair by the fire sat a figure, and in a moment he was recognized in spite of his shabby looks.

"mr. sorley!" cried alan and dick in a breath.