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,............