the rector and sophy looked at one another, and then at lestrange, smiling and confident. they knew alan too well to credit so monstrous an accusation for one moment. indeed, the idea appeared so ridiculous to sophy that she laughed outright.
lestrange frowned.
"you laugh now," he said. "you will weep later. what i say is true. thorold stole the body of your father--your supposed father!" he sneered, "for, say what you like, you are my child."
"i don't acknowledge the relationship," retorted the girl with spirit, "and i never will. mr. marlow was my father. i shall always think of him as such. as to your accusation of mr. thorold, it is merely another trick to cause me trouble. i suppose you will say next that he murdered dr. warrender?"
"i say nothing of the sort," replied the captain, nettled by her open contempt, "yet he may have done so, for all i know. but i state only what i can prove."
"you cannot prove this ridiculous charge?" cried the rector. "mr. thorold is incapable of such a crime."
"ah!" drawled the other coolly, "you see, mr. thorold is scientific, and does not look upon his deed as a crime."
"what do you mean by that?" asked mr. phelps sharply.
"i mean that mr. thorold was once a medical student--at least, i have been told as much."
"it is true, quite true," said sophy, opening her eyes, for in her innocence she did not see what the man meant. but the rector did, and winced. he anticipated the accuser.
"you mean that mr. thorold stole the body for scientific purposes?"
"for dissection--yes. mr. thorold is, i understand, an enthusiast in surgery. marlow--or, rather, i should say, beauchamp--died of an obscure disease, and warrender and thorold removed the body to hold a post-mortem on it. they were the men seen by cicero gramp--you see, i know all about it. they probably carried the body to the moor hut to dissect it. whether they quarreled or not, i do not know, nor do i know if it was thorold who killed the doctor. all i say is, that those two stole the body."
"oh, indeed!" remarked mr. phelps ironically, "and thorold put the remains of dr. warrender back in the vault, i suppose? and what did he do with marlow's body?"
"i don't know. buried it on the moor, very likely."
"mr. thorold had not the key of the vault," cried sophy indignantly. "it had been stolen by the quiet gentleman."
"so i understand," retorted lestrange sharply. "and who says so? mr. thorold himself. believe me, sir," he turned to the rector, "that key was never stolen. thorold had it in his pocket. he lied about that for his own safety."
"i don't believe it," said mr. phelps decisively. "thorold was at bournemouth on the night the crime was committed."
"i know he was!" cried sophy, with emphasis. "he was with me and miss parsh."
"you are wrong, both of you. he came back to heathton on that night, and returned to bournemouth before dawn. i understand it is only an hour's journey from here."
"it is not true," insisted sophy uneasily. "i saw mr. thorold at eight o'clock that night at the soudan hotel."
"i dare say. but at ten o'clock he was at heathton."
"how can you prove that?"
"if you will permit me," said lestrange, and rising, he left the room.
before mr. phelps and sophy could exchange a remark, he was back again with a man who had evidently been waiting.
"jarks!" cried the rector, much annoyed. "and what has jarks to do with this preposterous story?"
"if you ask him he will tell you," said lestrange politely, and resumed his seat.
the rector looked indignantly at his sexton, who, as minor official in the church, should have quailed before his superior. but there was no quailing or cringing about jarks. the old fellow was as malicious as a magpie, and as garrulous. looking more rusty than ever, he stood twisting his greasy old hat, and shifting from one leg to the other.
"oh, i seed muster alan; yes, i seed un. on the night o' the funeral i were in the yard, a lookin' at 'em as i'd tucked away, an' i clapped eyes on muster alan. he wor' lookin' at the vault where i'd put away the last of 'em, he wor."
"about what time was that?" asked mr. phelps, with severity.
"well, it might be about ten, muster phelps, sir."
"and what were you doing out of bed at that hour?"
"lookin' at 'em," retorted jarks, wiping his mouth. "lor' bless you, muster phelps, all in the yard's m'own handiwork save some of the old uns. i like to see 'em all quiet an' humble in their narrow homes. ay, an' i seed muster alan, an' he sez, 'i've come to look round, jarks, an' you needn't say as i've bin about. here's money for ye.' ay, he did say that, an' guv me money. course i said nothin' as there isn't no law agin folk walkin' round to see how them as has passed away is gettin' along."
"how long was mr. thorold with you?"
"it might be about five minutes, sir. he went to ketch a train at the half-hour to go back to miss sophy--hopin' i sees you well, miss!" with a pull of his forelock to the girl, who was standing pale and trembling at this disastrous confirmation.
"why didn't you tell me this, jarks?"
"lor' bless you, miss sophy, 'twas little use vexin' you. 'sides, when i found muster marlow was gone, arter bein' put away comfortable-like in the vault, i did say to muster alan arterwards as it wasn't friendly-like of him to upset my handiwork. but muster alan he says as he had nowt to do with the takin' of him, an' how he got out of the vault, being screwed and soldered down, was more than he knew. so he being the squire, miss sophy, it wasn't my place to say nothin'. i knows the station of life i've bin called to."
"it was your duty to come to me," said the rector severely.
"naw, naw!" jarks shook his head. "'tain't no good makin' bad blood, muster phelps. muster alan wor in the yard, but he didn't take the last of 'em away."
"i say he did!" put in lestrange, with emphasis.
"ay, ay! you thinks you knows a lot. but i tell you, you don't. if it wasn't that i let slip to that fat un while mazed wi' drink, as i seed muster alan, you'd niver have know'd naught. naw! but when the wine's in jarks he talks foolish-like. ay, he babbles as a babe does jarks!"
"who is this fat man he speaks of?" asked sophy.
"my other witness," replied lestrange promptly. "you can go, jarks. send in cicero."
the sexton nodded, wiped his mouth, and backed to the door with a final excuse.
"as i wor sayin', muster phelps, 'twouldn't be right to blame jarks for holdin' the tongue o' he, muster alan wantin' it so. but the red wine--which is to say, beer an' such like--maketh the heart of jarks glad, as sez holy scripture. an' i'll go now, wishin' you an' miss sophy happiness an' long life."
after which apologetic speech the old sinner creaked out of the room pulling his forelock.
"you see," said lestrange, with a triumphant look at the other two, "thorold was in heathton, and in the churchyard on that night."
"it would seem so; but that does not prove he took away the body," put in sophy.
"my second witness can prove that. come in, cicero."
the fat man, resplendent in new clothes, rolled into the room.
"pax vobiscum," said he.
the rector turned an angry glance on him.
"this is not the time for playing the fool," he said cuttingly. "you are a cunning rogue, but some day you will overreach yourself. now, then, out with your lie."
"lie! i scorn to pervert the truth, reverend sir. i shall tell the truth in puris naturalibus."
"i hope not," threw in the rector, laughing, in spite of himself, at this abuse of quotation.
"which means, reverend sir," went on the old scoundrel coolly, "that in the hut on the heath i found the corpse of dr. warrender."
"but not the body of my father," said sophy.
"no, but i saw that taken away from the vault. undoubtedly, miss marlow, the body was carried to the hut for the purpose of dissection by mr. thorold. he was foolish enough to leave behind him evidence of his iniquitous purposes. behold!" and cicero produced a lancet in his most dramatic manner. "nota bene," said he grandly.
phelps bent forward and took the instrument in his hand. it had an ivory handle, on which were carved two letters, "a. t."
"you found this in the hut?" he asked.
"i did, reverend sir. it must have been dropped by mr. thorold. if not, how did it come there? i pause for a reply."
"why did you not tell mr. thorold about this?" demanded sophy.
"i bided my time----"
"to blackmail him!" she cried, with scorn.
"a harsh word, miss sophia. certainly i would have demanded a small payment from mr. thorold, had i shown him that. but mr. thorold insulted me, it matters not how. nemo me impune lacessit, miss sophia, and i determined to punish the young man. my military friend was good enough to enter into partnership with me for the purpose of clearing up this matter, hence i told him of my discovery. there is no more to be said."
"save this," put in lestrange, who appeared to be getting somewhat weary of cicero's cumbersome diction, "that here is the proof that it was thorold who carried off the body. do you believe now in his guilt?"
"i reserve my opinion," said the rector, who could not but acknowledge to himself that things looked black for alan.
"i don't!" cried sophy, rising. "if fifty men, with fifty lancets, came to tell me this story, i would not believe a word against mr. thorold. he can explain. i believe in him firmly, and, to prove my belief, i shall marry him as soon as i can."
"you'll do nothing of the sort!" cried lestrange, losing his temper. "i am your father, and i command you to come with me."
"and i am my own mistress, and i refuse," she said quietly. "you can't frighten me. i don't believe your stories."
"nor do i," said the rector. "when mr. thorold comes back, he will, no doubt, be able to explain his presence in heathton on that night, and also the loss of his lancet."
"he shall explain it to the police!" cried lestrange, in a threatening manner.
"no, no," said cicero, apprehensive at this mention of his natural enemies; "let us take counsel together. cannot this matter be adjusted, so that mr. thorold may escape the reward of his iniquitous proceedings?"
sophy looked at him with a satirical smile. then she turned to address lestrange as the senior partner in this firm of scoundrels.
"how much do you want?" she asked.
the captain winced. he did not like the question to be put quite so crudely.
"i do not understand," he said.
"i think you do. how much do you require to hold your tongue?"
"say five thousand," whispered mr. gramp.
but lestrange shook him off, and marched to the door very upright and indignant.
"i will let you know my price----"
"ah!" said sophy scornfully.
"when i have seen the police," finished he, and marched out.
cicero had to follow, but he turned at the door and winked.
"he will not go to the police," said he, in a hurried voice. "might i suggest five----"
"be off, you scoundrel!" cried the rector indignantly, and thrust him out.
then he resumed his seat, and looked at sophy.
"well?" said he.
"alan can explain," said she decisively.
"but if lestrange goes to the police?"
"he won't," she said. "cicero will stop that. meanwhile i wait for alan."
they talked on for a long time, but could come to no conclusion. undoubtedly alan had been near the vault on that night, had been in the hut, and had said nothing of these things to any one. it certainly looked suspicious, but sophy insisted that her lover could and would explain. in spite of appearances, she had faith in alan's honesty and in alan's honor.
that same evening she dined with the rector, without even miss vicky in attendance.
towards the end of the meal, alan walked in unexpectedly. he looked somewhat downcast, but there was no sign of fear in his bearing. after greetings had been exchanged he sat down with them. neither the rector nor sophy was anxious to inform him of the accusation which had been brought against him.
"how went the business?" asked mr. phelps.
"badly--for us," was the reply. "lestrange certainly arrived by the boat he said he came by. i saw his name, achille lestrange, on the passenger-list of the negress."
"ah! the devil speaks true sometimes!" said the rector. "and what about beauchamp?"
"yes, yes!" cried sophy. "did you find him? did you see him?"
"no," replied alan quietly, "but i heard of him. beauchamp is dead!"
