"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............