Alan started to his feet at that imperative summons. Had Beauchamp been overheard by Mrs. Marry? Had his disguise been penetrated? Had she brought some one to witness the discovery? These thoughts rushed through his mind with lightning speed, and for the moment he lost his presence of mind. Not so the man who was truly in danger. Adopting the peculiar shuffle of the Quiet Gentleman, he crossed the room and opened the door. As the key turned in the lock Alan fully expected to see Lestrange, menacing and sinister, on the threshold. But the newcomer proved to be Blair.

"How are you getting on, Mr. Thorold?" he said, stepping through the door, which Beauchamp locked behind him. "You know now who the Quiet Gentleman is. Don't look so scared, sir."

"Can't help it," muttered the young man.

"This business has been rather too much for me. I thought when you knocked, that Lestrange had run his prey to earth."

"He won't get much out of his prey if he does," said Blair, with a nod to Beauchamp. "I have seen Mrs. Warrender."

The old man turned as white as the beard he wore.

"And--and--what does she say?" he stammered.

"Say!" Blair seated himself and chuckled. "She says two thousand pounds will pay her for that confession."

"Then it does exist! Warrender knew the truth!"

"Of course. Didn't I tell you the man was a blackmailing scoundrel? Faith! and his wife is not much better. Two thousand pounds for a bit of paper!"

"And for my freedom!" said Beauchamp excitedly. "Oh to think of being free from the horror which has hung over me all these years! And Warrender knew the truth! What a scoundrel! He always swore that he knew nothing, and I paid him money to hold his tongue about my supposed guilt. Ungrateful wretch! He and his wife arrived in England almost penniless. I met him in London, and, as he knew my story, I brought him down here. I helped him in every way. How was it he left a confession behind him?"

"It is an old confession," replied Blair. "It seems that Warrender fell ill of fever in New Orleans. His conscience smote him for his villainy, and he made a full confession, signed it, and had it witnessed. When he recovered he did not destroy it, but kept it safely with the rest of his papers. There Mrs. Warrender found it, and she is now prepared to sell it for two thousand pounds. A nice sum, upon my word!" grumbled Blair.

"She shall have it," said Beauchamp eagerly. "I would pay five thousand for that confession--I would indeed!"

"I dare say. But Mrs. Warrender will give it to you for the lesser sum, sir."

"Does she know that I am here? Did you tell her?"

"Not such a fool, Mr. Beauchamp. She'd have asked five thousand if she had known that. The woman has the blackmailing instinct."

"Like her brother," put in Alan. Then, observing the looks of surprise directed at him by the other two, he added: "Didn't you know? Cicero Gramp is Mrs. Warrender's brother. I found that out in London."

"A nice pair of jail-birds!" cried Blair. "I'd best get that confession at once, or she'll be giving it to Cicero, and they'll demand more money. Mr. Beauchamp, can you give me a check?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "You forget, Blair, I am dead and buried, and, what's more, I do not intend ever to come to life again as Marlow. But Mr. Thorold, as Sophy's trustee, can give you the money."

"If Blair will come to the Abbey Farm, I will do so," said Alan, rising. "I agree that the sooner the confession is obtained the better, or Cicero may give trouble. By the way, who was it killed Achille, Blair? Was it the doctor himself?"

"No, no!" cried Beauchamp. "It was Scipio, the negro."

"I can't tell you that;" and the inspector shook his head. "Mrs. Warrender declares that you are innocent, Mr. Beauchamp; but she declines to give any further information until she has received her pound of flesh."

"She shall have it this very day," said Alan, putting on his cap. "Come, Blair. Mr. Beauchamp, will you remain here?"

"Yes. I am safer as the Quiet Gentleman than as anything else."

"You don't want me to bring Sophy here?"

"Not until we get that confession, Alan. Sophy might make a scene when she met me. Mrs. Marry would learn the truth, and the news would spread. If Lestrange knew, all would be lost. Get the confession, Alan."

"Yes, I think that is the best plan. Good-day, Mr. Brown," said the inspector, speaking for the benefit of Mrs. Marry, and with Alan he left the house.

Alone again, Beauchamp fell on his knees and thanked God that his innocence was about to be vindicated. For years he had lived in dread of discovery; now he was about to be relieved of the nightmare.

Talking as they went of the strange and unexpected turn the Case, as Blair called it, had taken, the two men walked through Heathton and out on to the country road. On turning down a quiet lane which led to the Abbey Farm, they saw a ponderous man behaving in a most extraordinary manner. He danced in the white dust, he shook his fist at the sky, and he spun round like a distracted elephant. Blair's keen eye recognized him at once.

"Very pretty, Mr. Cicero Gramp," he observed dryly. "Are you in training for a ballet-dancer?"

The man stopped short, and turned a disturbed face on them.

"I'll be even with him!" he gasped, wiping his streaming forehead. "Oh, the wretch! oh, the Judas! Gentlemen, proceed, and leave an unhappy man to fight down a whirl of conflicting emotions. E pluribus unum!" quoted Cicero, in a pathetic voice; "that is me--Ai! Ai! I utter the wail of Orestes."

"And, like Orestes, you seem to be mad," observed Alan, as the fat man returned to his dancing.

"And no wonder, Mr. Thorold. I have lost thousands. Lestrange----"

Cicero could say no more. He was choked with emotion, and gave vent to his feelings by shaking his fist at the sky.

"Ah," said Blair, who had been taking in the situation, "Lestrange! You have found a cleverer villain than yourself."

"He has gone away!" roared Cice............