At the sound of Alan's voice Mrs. Warrender started like a guilty thing. He was astonished beyond measure at finding her in the same unsavory neighborhood as himself, bound, for all he knew, on the same errand. At all events, it was surely more than a coincidence that she should be on the threshold of Gramp's dwelling, so to speak.

"Mrs. Warrender," he said, gravely lifting his hat, "this is indeed a surprise. Of course, you know what has happened at Heathton?"

"I know all," answered the woman, in a rich, low voice. "Jarks, the sexton, told my servant this morning what has happened to poor Julian, and that his body has been found in the Marlow vault."

"Are you sure you did not know of it last night?" asked Alan quietly.

"Mr. Thorold!"

The color rushed to her face.

"I mean that the letter which disturbed you so much might have hinted at the murder."

"A letter? How do you know I got a letter last night?"

"The Rector called to break the news to you this morning, and your servant told him that you already knew it; also that you had left for London--with your jewels, Mrs. Warrender," added Alan significantly.

"And you followed me!" cried the woman savagely. "Do you intend to accuse me of my husband's murder?"

"I certainly do not; and I did not follow you. I am here on the same errand as yourself."

She looked terrified.

"How do you know what my errand is?"

"Because I can put two and two together, Mrs. Warrender. I also received a letter--at least, Miss Marlow did, and from the same man--the man who lives here."

"Cicero Gramp?"

"That is the name. You see, I was right. Does he intend to blackmail you also, and did you bring your jewels to satisfy his demands?"

She looked down the court. They were comparatively alone. A few ragged children were playing about, and some slatternly women were watching them from doorways. A man or two, brutalized by drink, hovered in the distance. But a smart constable, who passed and repassed the entrance of the cul-de-sac, casting inquisitive glances at Alan and his companion, kept these birds of prey from any nearer approach. Finding that they were out of earshot, Mrs. Warrender produced a letter and handed it to Alan. It was written on the same thick, creamy paper, and in the same elegant handwriting as had been the communication to Sophy. He read it in silence. As he had expected, it informed Mrs. Warrender that her husband was dead, and that Cicero Gramp, on payment of two hundred pounds, could inform her where the body could be found. His price had evidently gone up. But what struck Alan most was the nature of the information now offered. Cicero declared that he could tell the widow where her husband's body was to be found. The body had already been discovered in the Marlow vault. Ergo, Cicero Gramp knew it was there. If so, had he seen the murder committed and the body taken into the vault? It seemed probable. Indeed, it seemed likely that he could solve the whole mystery; but, strangely enough, the prospect did not seem to afford Mr. Thorold much satisfaction. He handed back the letter with a dissatisfied smile.

"I think you have wasted your time coming up," he said. "Jarks, no doubt, told your servant that the doctor's body had already been discovered. Why, then, come up to pay blackmail?"

"I want to find out who killed Julian," she said.

"Then you are on your way to see this man?"

"Yes." She shuddered. "But this terrible place. I am afraid."

"Then why come here? I am going to see Mr. Gramp on Miss Marlow's behalf. If you like, I will represent you also."

"No, thank you; I must see him myself."

"Very well. I suppose you are not staying in town?"

"Yes, at the Norfolk Hotel. I shall remain until to-morrow, so as to sell my jewels and bribe this man."

"There will be no need to sell your jewels," said Alan soothingly. "I will be responsible for the blackmail. Have you the jewels with you?"

"No, I dared not bring them. He might have robbed me. They are in my bedroom at the hotel."

"Then go back at once and look after them. I will bring this man there in, let us say, an hour."

"Thank you, Mr. Thorold," she said. "I accept your offer. I am really afraid to go down that slum."

He gazed after her fine figure as she walked hurriedly away. Somehow that haughty air and resolute gait did not fit in well with her expression of fear. It was curious. He felt there was something strange about Mrs. Warrender. However, she had been open enough with him, so he did not choose to think badly of her.

The man he sought was not easy to find. Mr. Cramp had his own reasons for keeping clear of the police. The whole alley was known by the name of Dixon's Rents, and Thorold had no idea in which of the houses to ask for him. He questioned a stunted street Arab with wolfish eyes, emphasizing his request with a sixpence.

"Oh, Cicero!" yelped the lad, biting the coin. "Yuss, he's round about. Dunno! Y'ain't a 'tec?"

"What's that?"

"A de-tec-tive," drawled the boy. "Cicero ain't wanted, is he?"

"Not by me. Is Cicero generally--er--wanted?" inquired Alan delicately.

The urchin closed one eye rapidly, and grinned with many teeth. But, instead of replying he took to shouting hoarsely for "Mother Ginger." The surrounding population popped out of their burrows like so many rabbits, and for the next few minutes "Mother Ginger" was asked for vigorously. Alan looked round at the ragged, blear-eyed slum-dwellers, but could see nothing of the lady in question. Suddenly his arm was twitched, and he turned to find a dwarf no higher than his waist trying to attract his attention. Mother Ginger, for it was she, had a huge head of red hair, fantastically decked with ribbons of many colors. Her dress, too, was rainbow-hued, like Joseph's coat. She had carpet slippers on her huge feet, and white woolen gloves on her large hands. Her face was as large as a frying-pan and of a pallid hue, with expressionless blue eyes and a big mouth. Alan saw in her a female Quasimodo.

"Wot is it?" she inquired. Evidently Mother Ginger was vain of her finery and of the attention she attracted. "Is it Mr. Gramp you want, m'dimber-cove?"

"Yes. Can you take me to him?" asked Thorold, wincing at the penny-whistle quality of her voice. "Is he at home?"

"P'r'aps he is, p'r'aps he ain't," retorted Mother Ginger, with a fascinating leer. "Wot d'ye want with him?"

"This will explain." And Alan put Cicero's letter into her hand. "Give him that."

She nodded, croaked like a bull-frog, and vanished amongst the crowd. Mr. Thorold found himself the center of attraction and the object of remark.

This somewhat unpleasant position was put an end to by the appearance of Mother Ginger, who clawed Alan, and drew him into a house at the end of the court. The tatterdemalions gave a yell of disappointment at the escape of their prey, and their prey congratulated himself that he had not made his visit at night. He felt that he might have fared badly in this modern Court of Miracles. However, it appeared that he was safe under the protection of Mother Ginger. With the activity of a monkey, she conducted him up a dirty staircase and into a bare room furnished with a bed, a chair, and a table. Here Alan was greeted by a bulky creature in a gorgeous red dressing-gown, old and greasy, but still pretentious. He had no difficulty in recognizing the man whom he had seen reciting on the parade at Bournemouth.

"I welcome you, Mr. Thorold," said Cicero in his best Turveydrop style. "Mother Ginger, depart."

To get rid of the woman, Mr. Thorold placed a shilling in her concave claw, upon which she executed a kind of war-dance, and vanished with a yelp of delight. Left alone with the pompous vagabond, the young man took the only chair, and faced his host, who was sitting majestically on the bed, his red dressing-gown wrapped round him in regal style.

"So you are Cicero Gramp?" began Alan. "I have seen you----"

"At Bournemouth," interrupted the professor of elocution and eloquence. "True, I was there for the benefit of my health."

"And to blackmail Miss Marlow."

"Blackmail--a painful word, Mr. Thorold."

"How do you know my name?"

"It is part of my business to know all names," was the answer--"ex nihilo nihil fit, if you understand the tongue of my namesake. If I did not know what I desire to know, my income would be small indeed. I visited the salubrious village of Heathton, and learned there that Miss Marlow and Mr. Thorold, to whom she was engaged, were recreating themselves at the seaside with an inferior companion. Bournemouth was the seaside, and I went there. On seeing a young lady with a spinster and a gentleman in attendance, I noted Miss Marlow, Mr. Thorold, and Miss Parsh."

"And made yourself scarce?"

"I did," admitted Cicero frankly. "I departed as soon as you were out of sight, knowing that my letter would be delivered, and that you might call in the police."

"Ah, a guilty conscience!"

"Far from it." Cicero flung open his dressing-gown and struck his chest. "Here purity and innocence and peace are enthroned. I did not wish to be taken by the minions of the law, lest they should wrest from me for nothing what I should prefer to sell for a few pounds. Besides, I wished to see you in my own house. A poor establishment," said Mr. Gramp, looking round the meager room, "but mine own."

He bowed gracefully, as if for applause.

"Come, Mr. Gramp," said Alan diplomatically, "let us get to business. What do you know about this matter?"

"About the hundred pounds?" asked the man with an appearance of great simplicity.

"I'll pay you that, more or less, when I know what your information is worth."

"More or less won't do, Mr. Thorold. I want, from Miss Marlow or from you, one hundred pounds."

"I know, and two hundred from Mrs. Warrender."

"Ah!"--Cicero did not move a muscle--"she has told you that I can give you information about the body of her husband?"

"Yes, and she has come to town to see you. However, I have intercepted her, and she is waiting to see you in a place I know of. You must come with me, Mr. Gramp."

But Cicero shook his head uneasily.

"An Englishman's house is his castle," he said. "This is my house, my keep, my donjon. Quod erat demonstrandum!"

"Oh, confound your dictionary Latin!" cried Alan impatiently. "You are afraid of the police?"

"Far from it, Mr. Thorold. I have nothing to fear from them. For one hundred pounds I lay bare my heart."

"I'll give you fifty pounds on condition you tell me all you know. From Mrs. Warrender you won't receive a penny."

"Then she shall never know where lies the body of her late lamented partner."

"She knows that already," said Alan coolly.

"Ha!"--Cicero gave a dramatic start--"you seek to deceive me!"

"Indeed, I do nothing of the sort; I found the body myself."

"Where, may I ask?" said Gramp, his thoughts going back to the hut on the heath.

"In the Marlow vault, in the coffin of the dead man who was carried away."

Cicero's jaw fell. He was truly surprised.

"How the devil did it get there from the hut?" he said.

"The hut--what hut?"

"I want my money before I tell you that, Mr. Thorold."

Alan took five ten-pound notes out of his pocket.

"Here is fifty pounds," he said; "it will be yours if you tell me all you know, and come with me to see Mrs. Warrender."

"Aha!" Cicero's eyes glittered, and his fingers longed to clutch the money. Such wealth had not been his for many a long day. "And the police?"

"I thought you did not fear them?" was the reply.

"I don't, for I have done nothing to put myself in the power of the law. But I am afraid, as this body has been found, that you will have me arrested, and so I shall lose the money."

"If you are innocent of the murder and the sacrilege, you won't be arrested, Gramp. And the money I will give you after we have seen Mrs. Warrender."

"On your word of honor as a gentleman?"

"Yes, on my word of honor. If you can throw light on this mystery, and bring home these crimes to the person who has committed them, I am quite willing to pay you."

"I don't know about bringing home the crimes, Mr. Thorold," said Cicero, rising, "but I will tell you all I know in the presence of Mrs. Warrender. Permit me to assume my visiting garb. Where is the lady?"

"At the Norfolk Hotel."

"I know it. Many a glass which cheers have I drained there. Dulce desipere in loco. You don't know Horace, perhaps?"

"I suspect you don't," said Alan, annoyed by this hedge-Latin. "Hurry up!"

"Fifty pounds, Mr. Thorold."

"After our interview with Mrs. Warrender," amended the other significantly.

"Command my services," said Cicero, and rapidly put on his frock-coat, battered hat and gloves.

After he had brushed his greasy broadcloth, and dusted his large boots with the red bandana, he announced that he was ready.

The oddly-assorted pair proceeded to the Norfolk Hotel through the Lambeth slums. Cicero seemed to be very well known and very popular. He exchanged greetings with shady acquaintances, patted ragged children on the head, and arrived at the hotel swelling with pride. He felt that he had shown Alan he was a man of consequence. Arrived at their destination, they were shown by a slipshod waiter into a shabby sitting-room on the first floor where they found Mrs. Warrender. She rose, and on seeing Cicero, gave a shriek of surprise.

"Bill!" she cried with a gasp.

"Clara Maria!" exclaimed the so-called Cicero, "my beloved sister! What a surprise!"