"Lady Wyke! Lady Wyke!" babbled Claudia, dazed by the amazing discovery.

"You beast!" snarled the detected murderess, and wrenched herself free, to run swiftly across the open space between the barn and the zig-zag path which led down to the beach.

Claudia, seeing her quarry escaping, recovered her senses promptly, and blew a shrill call on the police whistle. In a moment Sergeant Purse, at the not too distant coastguard station, heard the signal, and came running out. He saw in a moment the flying figure of the woman, and sped towards her like a deer, in order to intercept her before she reached the cliffs. At the same time Claudia sprang forward also, and reached the fugitive almost at the same time as the officer. Purse laid hands on his prey just as she reached the opening of the path, and dexterously flung her on the ground. Lady Wyke, seeing that she was lost, howled like a wild beast, and swore like several troopers in her anger and baffled rage. But the sergeant paid no attention to her curses. When he rose she was lying on the ground with handcuffs on her wrists. Claudia silently stood looking down on her captured enemy, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, so unstrung did she feel. Unable to say a word, she turned red and white alternately, and awaited events.

"Get up, Mrs. Vence," said Purse, briefly.

"It's--not--Mrs. Vence," quavered Claudia, in a shaky voice. "It's Lady Wyke."

"Gosh!" gasped the sergeant, astonished for once in his official life. "Do you mean to say that she murdered her husband?"

There was no answer from either woman. Lady Wyke rolled on the dry grass cursing freely, while Claudia sat down on a convenient rock to clasp her hands tightly and keep herself from trembling--in fact, from breaking down altogether. No one else was at hand, as the policemen at the rectory had not heard the whistle, and Purse had waved back the coastguards who seemed disposed to approach. He did not wish anyone should share the glory of his capture, and desired then and there to hear Lady Wyke's story, so that he could be sure he had arrested the right person.

"Now, then," said Purse, shaking his finger at her sternly, "what have you to say, madam? Remember, anything you do say will be used in evidence against you."

"Oh," sneered Lady Wyke, looking very white and very vicious, "and you think that I'll be fool enough to speak after that warning. How dare you arrest an innocent person such as I am!"

"You are guilty," said Claudia, hoarsely. "You murdered Sir Hector."

"It's a lie."

"Neddy Mellin can prove it."

"Then until he does, I am guiltless," raged the woman, furiously. "Take these handcuffs off, man."

"Oh, no," said the sergeant, smoothly. "I have arrested you as Mrs. Vence, who struck down that boy. Afterwards you can be arrested for the murder of your husband as Lady Wyke."

"I didn't kill him, I tell you," she snarled viciously. "As to the boy, I never saw him."

"Rats!" growled Purse inelegantly. "If you are innocent of assault, why did you hide in that loft?"

Lady Wyke scowled, and saw that there was no escape from the lesser crime. "I only hit the boy lightly to punish him for telling lies."

"You stunned him. He is dangerously ill," said Claudia, quickly.

"Then how can he accuse me if he hasn't his senses about him?"

"He recovered for a moment to say that you had struck him, and he gave the reason why you did so."

"And the reason?" demanded the woman, with a sneer.

"You murdered your husband."

"Did he say that in those exact words?"

"No. He said that Mrs. Vence had murdered Sir Hector."

"Well, I am not Mrs. Vence, I am Lady Wyke."

"Rot!" said the sergeant, angrily. "What the deuce are you wasting my time for in telling lies? You are Lady Wyke sure enough, but you have been masquerading for some purpose as an old woman under the name of Mrs. Vence."

"You can prove nothing against me, said Lady Wyke, sullenly.

"Yes, we can. An operation will restore young Mellin to health, and his evidence will hang you."

"Hang me?" Lady Wyke shivered.

"Yes. There is no escape, But you had better not say any more. I don't want to trap you into a confession. Get up and come along with me. I must take you to Redleigh Goal."

"Oh," groaned the woman, looking at her handcuffs and then wrathfully at the white face of Miss Lemby, "and to think that the girl should get the better of me! But I'm not beaten yet."

"Here, get up and come along," said Purse, harshly, and bent to lift her.

"Wait!" shrieked Lady Wyke, who now saw that there was indeed no escape, and that the time had come for her to pay in full for her wickedness. "I have a word to say first."

"Say it then," growled the officer, sharply, "and be quick about it."

The captured woman thought for a few moments, and then began with a sigh to confess her wickedness, and continued with frequent sobs. Bad as she was, Claudia was quite sorry for her apparent misery.

"I'll tell the truth," said Lady Wyke, in a melancholy tone, but it became sharper when Purse began to recite his formula. "Don't bother me," she said, tartly, "but take out your pocket-book and note down what I say."

"I'm ready," said the sergeant, stolidly, when her command was complied with. Lady Wyke nodded, looked at her fettered hands, and shivered. "I never thought that I'd live to have these on," she said, sullenly. "However, the game's up, and that girl yonder has won. It's no use beating about the bush any longer. I did murder my husband."

"Oh!" gasped Claudia, shrinking and wincing.

"Yes," went on the woman plaintively. "I killed him, with the knife of your father. To begin at the beginning"--her voice shook, but she made an effort and continued slowly--"when I saw in America that Hector was going to marry you. Miss Lemby, I came back to stop him from committing bigamy."

"He thought that you were dead." "Well, I wasn't. I returned and saw Sandal to prove my identity. I also learnt that the will made by Hector shortly after our marriage, which left his property to me, was still in existence. Then I interviewed Hector, and we had an unpleasant scene, as you may guess. He did not want to tell you the truth immediately, but wished for time to think over matters. To do so he proposed to go into hiding in the country, because he was afraid lest your father should come and worry him."

"My father did find him out," said Claudia, while Purse went on busily taking notes. "He learnt from Edwin where Sir Hector was."

"Add Edwin knew because his father was Rector of Hedgerton. Well, than, as you may guess, I was not going to let my husband give me the slip, so I said that I would go with him. He objected, as he had fixed upon Maranatha, in Hedgerton, as his hiding-place, and knew that I came from there. He did not wish my sister, who was only a washerwoman, to know that I was his wife. I therefore said that I would make myself up as an old woman, and go as his housekeeper."

"And your husband consented to this absurd idea?" I asked Purse, doubtfully.

Lady Wyke smiled drily. "He couldn't very well object, could he," she demanded, "seeing that I had the inside running? Since he was anxious to hide the truth about his first marriage from that girl yonder, he had to do what I wished, as he knew that I could give the show away.

"Well, then, being an actress, I was quite able to turn myself into an old hag. I was Lady Wyke in London, but I arrived at Maranatha as Mrs. Vence. Afterwards, when the house was more or less ready, Hector arrived, and we pigged it there for some time. Hector could not make up his mind to tell you of my reappearance, Miss Lemby, and so dilly-dallied day after day. I kept mostly indoors, while occasionally Hector walked out, although he discouraged people calling, which was natural, considering he did not ............