shortly afterwards mr. beauchamp returned to his lodgings as the quiet gentleman. having been informed by alan, on his way to the moat house, that lestrange was there with sophy, he had taken off his false wig and beard to confound him; but now, in spite of the girl's protestations, he put them on again.
"no, child, no," he said; "i am as dead as richard marlow, and i shall not come to life again. what purpose would it serve? it would only cause a scandal, and the papers would be full of the story. i have no wish to be a nine days' wonder."
"but, father, what will you do?--where will you live?"
"oh," said he, with a smile, "i dare say you will carry out the terms of the will and let me have that two thousand a year. i shall take my departure from mrs. marry's as the quiet gentleman, and appear in london as herbert beauchamp. you can join me there, and we can go on our travels."
"but what about me?" cried poor sophy, who had found her adopted father only to lose him again.
"you shall marry alan."
"but i want you to be at the wedding, father."
"i shall be at the wedding, child, and i shall give you away."
alan looked at him in surprise.
"then you will be recognized, and the whole story will come out."
"so it would if you were married here," answered beauchamp composedly. "but the wedding must take place in london. can't you see, alan, that sophy must be married to you under her true name--marie lestrange?"
"oh, must i?" cried the girl in dismay.
"i think so; otherwise i doubt if the marriage would hold good."
"you are right," said alan, after a pause. "we must do as you say. but i am sorry. i wanted to be married here, and i wanted phelps to marry us."
"there is no reason against that. bring him to london and tell him the whole story."
"but i will never be called marie!"
"no, no; you will always be sophy to us," said her lover, kissing her. "and we will go abroad with mr. beauchamp for our honeymoon."
"with my father!" cried sophy, embracing the old man; "my dear and only father!"
he sighed as he kissed her good-by. he was devoted to his adopted daughter, and felt deeply parting with her even to so good a fellow as alan thorold. but he comforted himself with the thought that they could be much together abroad. and so, taking this cheerful view of the situation which had been created by the villainy of lestrange, the ex-millionaire, as he may now be called, withdrew to his lodgings. it was there that alan took leave of him, promising to call the next morning. a thankful heart was herbert beauchamp's that night. the sorrow of his life was over, the dark clouds had lifted, and now, under his own name, and with a good income, he could spend the rest of his days in peace. lestrange had slunk back into the night whence he had emerged, leaving one part of the mystery cleared up by his confession. it still remained to discover who had been the murderer of the unlucky warrender. and that came to light the very next day.
alan did not wait until beauchamp had departed for london to acquaint his revered tutor with all that had taken place. on the afternoon of the next day he proceeded to the rectory, and told the whole story to the amazed and delighted phelps, nothing would serve but that he must go at once to mrs. marry's and see with his own eyes the man who had been buried alive. but alan restrained the rector's impetuosity by pointing out that mrs. marry supposed brown, the quiet gentleman, to be dumb. if by any chance she should hear him speak all secrecy would be at an end.
"ay, ay," assented mr. phelps, "true enough, alan, true enough. mrs. marry is a terrible gossip, and we must keep the matter quiet. i don't want my churchyard to be made the subject of another scandal. but i must see marlow--i mean beauchamp. god bless me! i shall never get his name right--may i be forgiven for swearing! bring him here, alan--bring him at once. i must see my old friend after all he has suffered."
this alan agreed to do, and an hour later appeared with beauchamp and sophy. phelps received his old friend as one returned from the dead, and insisted upon having several points cleared up which he felt to be obscure.
"how about getting away, marlow?" he asked. "you had no clothes. how did you manage?"
"but i had clothes," replied beauchamp. "we prepared all our plans very carefully. joe took a suit of clothes to the hut, and brought money with him. then i walked to the nearest town and caught the train for london. there, at a quiet hotel, a box in the name of beauchamp was waiting for me. i slept there, and went on to brighton, and took rooms in lansdowne place. i was comfortable, you may be sure. joe came down to see me, and told me all the trouble which had ensued upon the death of warrender."
"ah!" said alan reflectively; "we don't know who murdered him, and we never shall know. it could not have been lestrange, and if it were the quiet gentleman, he has escaped us."
"i wonder who that quiet gentleman was," said sophy.
"we all wonder that, my dear," put in the rector; "but i fear we shall never know."
"well, what does it matter?" said beauchamp, with more asperity than he usually showed. "whoever murdered warrender gave him no more than he deserved. the man was a blackmailer, although the money he got out of me was obtained under the guise of friendship. he could have saved me years of agony had he only spoken the truth--ay, and honesty would have paid him better than dishonesty."
"no doubt. but the man is dead; let us not speak evil of the dead," said phelps. "but there is one question i wish to ask you, marlow--beauchamp, i mean. how was it that the page-boy swore joe brill was never out of the room on that night?"
"joe drugged the lad's supper-ale, and slipped out when he was fast asleep. he did the same the next night when he had to take warrender's body to the vault. that was my idea, for i was terrified lest i should be traced by the murder, and i wanted to get rid of the evidence of the crime. that tramp, confound him! spoilt all."
they were interrupted by the entrance of a servant, with the card of inspector blair. he was admitted at once, leaving a companion whom he had brought with him in the hall.
"you must excuse my intrusion, sir," he said, addressing mr. phelps; "but i have already been to the moat house and to the abbey farm in search of mr. thorold."
"here i am," said alan. "what is the matter, blair? you have some news."
"i have, sir. i have been to london, and i have brought back with me a gentleman whom mr. beauchamp may know;" and he summoned the gentleman in the hall.
"barkham!" exclaimed mr. beauchamp; "you here!"
mr. barkham was a dapper dark man, not unlike lestrange, with an expression which a schoolboy would have called "sneaky." he did not recognize mr. beauchamp until that gentleman stripped off beard and wig. then he hastened to acknowledge him.
"mr. beauchamp," he said, in a servile voice, "i hope, as i warned you of lestrange's plot, you will hold me blameless."
"why? what have you been doing?"
"i will tell you," interposed blair. "this gentleman, as you see, bears a slight resemblance to captain jean lestrange. he and the captain were hard up in jamaica, and seeing your portrait, mr. beauchamp, in the papers, they thought they might have a chance of extorting money from you. in case lestrange got into trouble here, he wished to have an alibi, so he left for england under another name, and mr. barkham here came to southampton in the negress as captain lestrange."
"yes, yes," said barkham nervously; "but i warned mr. beauchamp that lestrange was coming."
"quite so; but you did not tell him that lestrange was masquerading as a dumb man in heathton."
"what!" cried alan and sophy in one breath. "was lestrange the quiet gentleman?"
"yes," replied blair, with triumph. "he confessed as much to barkham here. that was why he wore the gray wig and beard and assumed dumbness--oh, a most effective disguise; quite a different person he made of himself! he came down to keep a watch on you, mr. beauchamp, in order to plunder you when he thought fit. your unexpected death took him by surprise and upset his plans. then barkham, as jean lestrange, arrived at southampton, and our quiet gentleman disappeared from his rooms here, to reappear from london in his own proper person, as captain jean lestrange. no wonder that, with so carefully-prepared an alibi, we did not guess it was he who had been masquerading here."
"ha!" exclaimed alan, "and he stole the key of the vault?"
"mr. barkham can explain that, and other things," said blair significantly.
"wait!" cried sophy, rising excitedly, "i know--i know! it was lestrange who murdered dr. warrender!"
"yes," admitted barkham, "he did."
there was a deep silence, which was broken at length by beauchamp.
"the scoundrel!" he said hoarsely, "and i let him escape!"
"what!" cried blair, jumping up. "you let him escape, mr. beauchamp--and when you knew that he killed achille lestrange?"
"it was my wish," struck in sophy; "i thought he might repent."
"such scoundrels never repent, miss marlow," said blair; "he has committed two murders, he may commit two more. but i'll hunt him down. he can't have gone far yet."
"no, i don't suppose he has," said alan. "he was here last night. by the way, how did he kill dr. warrender, and why?"
"barkham!"
the little man obeyed the voice of the inspector, and meekly repeated his story.
"lestrange," he said, "did not believe that mr. beauchamp was dead. he heard mr. thorold say something to the rector about the key of the vault----"
"god bless me!" cried phelps, "so you did, alan."
"yes," said the little man, nodding, "then he stole the key. he sent for the doctor to ask him about the burial. the doctor came, but lestrange was out."
"did warrender recognize him?" asked beauchamp abruptly.
"no, sir, he did not--at least, not then. well, lestrange waited and waited to enter the vault. when he went at last he found warrender and another man taking the body out. he followed them to the hut on the heath; he tried to look in, and he made a slight noise. warrender came out, and in the moonlight he recognized lestrange, who turned to run away, but the doctor caught him and they struggled. then lestrange, knowing that he would be arrested for the murder of achille in jamaica, stabbed the doctor to the heart. terrified at what he had done, he lost his head, and hurried up to me in london. at first he refused to tell me anything, but i made him drink," said barkham, with a leer, "and so i got the whole truth out of him."
"you scoundrel!" cried thorold.
"call me what you like," was the sullen rejoinder. "i wanted to get money out of beauchamp myself, and wrote to warn him that i might have a claim on his gratitude. i was afraid to come here. i sent a letter to lestrange asking him for money, and it got into this policeman's hands. he traced me, and brought me down here. that is all i know; but as mr. beauchamp is alive, i ought to have something. after all, it was i who warned him."
"you shall have fifty pounds," said beauchamp sternly. "but you must leave england."
"i don't know that i will let him," said blair. "he should have communicated with the police."
"i'll turn queen's evidence if you like," said barkham. "i don't care if i am arrested or not. i have had nothing but this fifty pounds--and you call that gratitude, mr. beauchamp!"
"let him go, blair, if you can consistently with your duty," said beauchamp.
"i'll see," was the reply. "hullo! what's that! gramp, what do you mean by rushing into the room?"
it was indeed cicero who stood, hot and puffing, at the door. he took no notice of blair, but addressed himself to alan.
"mr. thorold," he said, "i have information if you will pay me well."
"you shall be paid if what you have to say is worth it."
"then i must tell you that lestrange was the quiet gentleman. you see this lancet? he stole it out of your desk, and gave it to me to say that i found it in the hut. this proves that he was the quiet gentleman, and i believe he murdered dr. warrender."
"you do, you scoundrel!" cried mr. beauchamp. "but you are too late--we know all!"
"too late!" cried gramp. "good heavens! to think of my getting nothing, and clara maria two thousand pounds!"
* * * * *
little remains to be told. lestrange was traced to southampton, but there the trail was lost, much to the disappointment of inspector blair, who, although he duly received the two thousand pounds, never ceased to regret the man's escape. alan paid him the reward gladly, for without him the mystery would never have been solved, and mr. beauchamp's innocence would never have been established.
sophy and alan were married in the presence of the ex-millionaire and of miss vicky. after the ceremony, the former left england with joe. he bought a small yacht, in which he and his faithful servant sail the waters of the mediterranean. no one has ever guessed the truth.
mrs. marry continues to lament the loss of the quiet gentleman, but she has always believed him to have been one and the same person. that mr. beauchamp was the second representative of the part, she never dreamed. mr. marlow is dead to the heathton villagers, and to this day they talk of the mystery which surrounded the disappearance of his corpse--indeed, the vault has the reputation of being haunted.
barkham left england with his fifty pounds, and mrs. warrender returned to america with her two thousand and her many jewels. there she married a canadian doctor, and vanished altogether. cicero received a small sum, and now spends his time frantically hunting for clara maria, in the hope of extorting a share of her money; but clara maria is a clever woman, and he is not likely to come across her.
sophy and alan are supremely happy in their life at the abbey farm. they make frequent trips to the continent, where they meet mr. beauchamp.
miss vicky, too, is happy. she has sophy's son and heir to care for, and what more can she want?
"the heir to millions," says the old lady, "and what a mystery there was about it all! to this day, i don't understand everything."
"few people do," is alan's reply. "the millionaire's mystery will always remain a mystery in heathton."
