ALAN'S DEFENSE
"Dead!" repeated Sophy, after a pause. "Then was this Mr. Beauchamp
really my father or a relative?"
"I think he was Mr. Marlow, dear," said her lover gravely. "No doubt
your father intended to feign death to escape Lestrange, but it would
seem that he overdid it, and really died. I saw the manager of the
Occidental Bank. He informed me that he had received a letter telling
him that Beauchamp was dead."
"How long ago was this?"
"A little over a week."
"Who wrote the letter?"
"That he refused to tell me."
"Had he seen this Mr. Beauchamp, to whom the money was to be paid?"
"Never. Your father had informed him that he had left an income to
Beauchamp, and that drafts for the money were to be sent to a certain
place--where, I don't know. The manager sent a draft, but it was
returned to him with a letter stating that the man was dead. For my
own part, I believe that Mr. Marlow was Beauchamp. His plan to hide
himself from Lestrange has succeeded only too well."
Mr. Phelps now joined in.
"Then I understand, Alan, that you think Marlow is really dead?"
"I do. If he had only feigned death, then Beauchamp would be receiving
his income. In my opinion, the two men are one and the same. I believe
Lestrange's story so far."
"Humph!" said the Rector, who was really of the same opinion. "But let
us leave this question for the moment and talk of the other. You say
that Lestrange arrived on the day and by the boat he asserted that he
did?"
"I saw the passenger-list myself. If he had not been on board,
his name would not have been there. Even he could not falsify a
passenger-list."
"Then our idea that Lestrange was the Quiet Gentleman is false?"
"It must be, sir. The man--Lestrange I mean--was not in England when
the Quiet Gentleman lived in this village. I believe Brown had to do
with the stealing of the body and the murder. But, then, Brown is not
Lestrange. Who he is I don't know!"
"Alan!" cried Sophy--for if what Lestrange stated was true, this
hypocrisy was detestable--"you are not straightforward with me!"
"Indeed I am," he said, with a stare of astonishment. "I have told you
of my discoveries. Why should I deceive you?"
"Why, indeed!" said the girl bitterly. "You know how much I
love you, yet you keep me in the dark about matters which concern
us both--matters which I, if any one, have a right to know."
He might have had some inkling of what she meant, for his face turned
a dark red. Nevertheless, he held himself well in hand, and looked
inquiringly at the Rector.
"What does she mean, sir?"
"I think you can guess," said Phelps, more coldly than he had ever
before spoken to Alan.
"No; upon my word, I----"
Sophy rose from her chair and closed his mouth with her hand.
"Don't! don't!" she cried despairingly.
"I can't bear it. Captain Lestrange----" She hesitated.
"Ah!" said Alan fiercely. "I might have guessed he had been making
mischief. Well, and what does he say?"
"That you stole my father's body, Alan!"
"I--I--stole the body?"
"Yes!" chimed in the Rector. "And he further says that you took it to
the hut on the heath, where Warrender's corpse was found."
"Oh, indeed!" cried the young man derisively. "And did I murder
Warrender, too?"
"Alan! Alan! Oh, don't jest! If you love me, Alan, tell me the truth."
"Sophy! What do you mean?" He pushed away his plate and rose. "Do you
believe this man's tale for one moment? Am I the man to violate a
grave--to drag the remains of a man I respected and honored to the
light of day? You must be mad to think of such a thing! How dare he
bring forward such a terrible--such a dastardly accusation? For what
reason does he say that I did it?"
"Out of revenge, I expect," said Phelps. "He dislikes you, Alan. He
says you took poor Marlow's body to dissect it."
"And bases his lie upon some gossip of my having been a medical
student, I suppose?" cried the young man, now thoroughly angry. "I'll
thrash the scoundrel within an inch of his life!"
"Oh, Alan, I am so glad--so thankful! I said so, didn't I, Mr. Phelps?
You didn't do it!"
"Do it--of course I didn't do it! Why should I? Phelps,"--Alan forgot
his respect for the Rector in his rage--"do you believe this lying
story?"
"Knowing you as I do, I don't believe it. But I must say that
Lestrange--he is a very dangerous man--makes out a strong case against
you."
"Oh! Let me hear on what grounds."
"Alan!" Sophy came forward and took him by the lapels of his coat,
"before we tell you anything, confess if you have kept anything from
us."
He looked at her in a puzzled manner. Then a light seemed to dawn upon
him. He glanced at the Rector.
"Now I understand, Mr. Phelps. Jarks has told you."
"Told me what?" asked the Rector, with well-feigned ignorance.
"I see! I see!" Alan sat down again. "It's all right, Sophy. I kept
that from you only that you should not be worried. So Lestrange found
out--from Jarks, I suppose--that I was at Heathton on the night of the
funeral?"
"Yes, yes. Oh, Alan, is it true?"
"True--of course it is. Why should it not be true? Does the fact of my
having been here corroborate this cock-and-bull story? You ought to
know me better, Sophy, and you too, Phelps."
"I couldn't believe it--I didn't," cried the girl.
"Nor I. We both told him that he lied. But I must admit that things
looked bad for you, as he put it. Why didn't you tell us you were at
Heathton on that night? Why did you come? Was there any serious reason
for such secrecy?"
"No reason whatsoever," replied the young man frankly, "save the
trifling one that I did not want to bother Sophy with my suspicions.
Yes, I came by the 8.30 train from Bournemouth, and I returned at
half-past eleven. I had to go to another station to keep my secret,
you know. Jarks saw me in the graveyard about ten, and as I wished to
keep my visit quiet, for the reason I have told you, I gave him
something to hold his tongue. It appears that he did not. I suppose
Lestrange bribed him?"
"Well, no," said the Rector, "not exactly. Jarks, in his cups, told
that scoundrel Gramp, and he told Lestrange."
"Oh! So there are two of them in league to make trouble. A proper pair
of scoundrels!"
"But," said Sophy, more composedly, "you have not told us why you
came."
"I came," said her lover, determined now to make a clean breast of it,
"to look at the vault--to see that all was safe."
The Rector uttered an exclamation of astonishment.
"Did you expect, then, that there would be some foul play?"
"Well, I hardly know, sir. It was this way: After Mr. Marlow received
that letter from the West Indies--which doubtless warned him that
Lestrange was on his track--he was much worried. He would not tell me
the reason, but kept speaking of some shock he had had which might
cause his death. 'And I don't know if the scoundrel will let my body
rest in its grave,' he said in a fit of passion. I asked to whom he
alluded, but he would say no more. When he died so unexpectedly, his
words came back to me. I wondered if he had enemies who might disturb
his remains, and all that day after the funeral I felt so bothered
about it that I could not rest without coming back to see if all was
well."
"And you found nothing wrong?"
"Nothing, sir. I was in the churchyard for about a quarter of an hour.
I examined the door of the vault, and saw everything was right. As I
came away I met Jarks; the rest you know."
"You saw no signs of that tramp in the churchyard?"
"None! I expect he was sleeping when I was there. According to his
story, it was after midnight when the vault was opened."
"Alan," said Sophy, much relieved, "how is it they did not know at
Heathton Station that you were here?"
"I did not go to Heathton Station. I stopped at Murbury, and walked
from there across the heath. I went back the same way. I did so simply
to keep the tongues of gossips quiet. I did not want you to be
worried, Sophy; and after all," he said, after a pause, "beyond the
chance words of your father I had no reason to think that anything was
wrong. Ah! if I had only stayed in the churchyard all night, I should
have prevented this trouble. The vault would never have been broken
into, and poor Warrender would still be alive."
The Rector nodded approval of this speech, and poured himself out a
glass of wine, which, poor man, he sadly needed. Lestrange's
accusation had been disproved; still, there remained the evidence of
Cicero. Sophy put the question which was in the Rector's mind.
"Captain Lestrange brought Cicero here, Alan," she said abruptly, "and
he--Cicero, I mean--declared that you were in the hut on the moor that
night."
"I was not!" cried young Thorold hotly. "I was never near the hut. Why
should I have been? Ask yourself, as I had to walk to and from
Murbury, and spend a quarter of an hour in the churchyard, had I time
to cross the moor all the distance to the hut?"
"Of course, you know I don't believe it. But Cicero----"
"Well, and how can he prove I was there?" he said impatiently.
"He found something there which belonged to you."
"What?"
"A lancet."
"A lancet! And why mine? Warrender was a doctor; he took away the
body--why should the lancet not belong to him? If he had intended to
dissect the body--which he might have, for all I know--he would want
one."
"No doubt," Mr. Phelps said dryly. "But this lancet had your initials
on the ivory handle. It is your lancet, Alan, and it is now in
Cicero's possession."
"H'm! that's queer. Initials?--yes, it might be mine. But how did it
get there?"
"Did you ever lend a lancet to Dr. Warrender?"
"No, not that I can remember."
"Then there was the other man, his accomplice, Brown the----"
"Ha!" cried Alan, starting up and pacing the room. "I see, I see!"
"See what?" cried Sophy eagerly.
"How the lancet came to be found in the hut. The Quiet Gentleman stole
it."
"Stole it?"
"Of course. Did he not steal the key of the vault from my desk? There
was a case of lancets in the same drawer; he took one. Ha! this proves
to me that Brown stole the body and murdered Warrender. A clever
scoundrel! He stole my lancet to throw suspicion on me." Alan clenched
his hands and looked upward. "In God's name, what does this roguery
mean?"
It was indeed a perplexing case. They were all in the dark, and such
gleams of light as came served only to confuse them the more.
Lestrange could not be the Quiet Gentleman, for, as had been proved by
Alan, he had landed in England only the week before. Brown was the
_deus ex machina_ who could put matters right, and Brown had vanished.
He could reappear only at the risk of being charged with murder.
Why had the body been removed? If it were a case of blackmailing, the
claim would have been made long since. The police were apparently as
much at a loss as Alan himself. And Blair----
"Does Blair know of this accusation?" asked Mr. Thorold suddenly.
"I am certain he does not," answered the Rector emphatically. "In the
first place, it was only made to-day. Lestrange, I am sure, wants
money, and would come to us before going to the police."
"If he does not want money, Cicero does," put in Sophy scornfully.
"In the second place," resumed Mr. Phelps, "Blair is away."
"Where has he gone?"
"I can't say, but he will be back in a fortnight."
"Well," said Alan moodily, "I don't know if he will be much good when
he does come. I shall see this firm of scoundrels at the Good
Samaritan, and threaten them with the police, unless they tell all
they know. Lestrange is as bad as Cicero, and I know _him_ to be a
scoundrel. What's that?"
This exclamation was drawn from him by the violent ringing of the
door-bell. Before the sounds had ceased, Miss Vicky, red, hot and
agitated, rushed in a most unladylike manner into the room.
"Oh, Sophy! Mr. Phelps! Mr. Alan! I really never! Joseph Brill--oh,
that Joseph Brill! He's back again!"