Herrick did not take all that Santiago had said for gospel truth. The Mexican was too clever and too bold a man to give in so tamely, seeing what was at stake. For the moment he had recognised that he was powerless, and had surrendered until such time as he could recover his position. Dr. Jim could have stopped all his machinations, by having him arrested for the assault on Stephen. But he did not wish to bring the police into the matter at present. In the first place so many lies had been told about the Case, there were so many things to be explained, that he was not sure of his ground. And for the sake of Stephen he did not wish to create a scandal. Colonel Carr's reputation was quite bad enough without making it worse.

Therefore the only thing that Jim could do was to have the two scamps watched. Certainly they might warn Frisco to clear out; but whatever Santiago did, Herrick felt sure that Joyce would not counsel such a course. The little man knew well enough that his safety depended upon Herrick, and would do nothing which might jeopardise his safety. The Mexican might plot and plan; but Joyce would certainly obey orders. Also, they could do little if closely watched. Herrick then gave his orders to Kidd and Belcher, and returned the next day to Saxham.

"If anything important occurs," he said to the ferret, "you can wire me."

"But we are in the dark," protested Belcher, "if you would only---"

"No, Belcher," interrupted Jim sharply, "we settled all that before. All you have to do, is to see if either of these men tries to leave the country, or if they meet a man who looks like a sailor. Then you can wire me. I shall come up to town at once and deal with the matter myself."

"What might be the sailor's name?"

"It might be anything," replied Herrick dryly. "It won't do Belcher. You are not to know my aims until I choose to let you know. If you will not work for me on these terms, just say so and I'll get some one else."

"I'll do whatever you like Dr. Herrick," said the ferret submissively, and went away to fulfil his duties devoured with curiosity. In spite of his regard for Dr. Jim, the man wanted to make money out of him. He therefore determined to learn all he could about Joyce and the Mexican, and treat with them on his own account if he gained any knowledge likely to be useful from a blackmailing point of view. The ferret and his partner were rogues in grain. They did not even keep faithful to their employer, or to each other for the matter of that. "Honour amongst thieves" was not a proverb practised in the Strand office.

Herrick had another talk with Joyce before he returned to Saxham. The little man had gone back to his flat. Having him all to himself, and the yoke of Don Manuel being to some extent broken, Dr. Jim was able to deal more easily with him. He promised the poor fool, that if he remained faithful and did not intrigue any more with his father or the Mexican, that he should be given a new chance of leading a clean existence. Indeed Herrick spoke so seriously that he reduced Joyce to tears, and to many protestations that henceforward he would be all that was good. It was not improbable that he would mend. He had had a severe lesson, and had narrowly escaped getting into the clutches of the law. With a less kindly man than Herrick, his position would indeed would have been a serious one. He therefore appreciated the kindness accorded to him--or said he did--and Jim departed satisfied that so far as Robin was concerned, he had nullified the schemes of Santiago. In this way he hoped to take the heart out of the conspiracy against Stephen and Stephen's money.

"The next person to deal with is Corn," he said to himself as he got into the train, "he is another fool if not worse, as Manuel told me. I seem to have dealt with nothing but fools and scoundrels ever since I started out on that unhappy walking tour. Colonel Carr was evil in his life, and he has left an evil influence behind him."

Later on Dr. Jim reproached himself for blaming the walking-tour. If it had brought him into trouble it had also given him a promise of future happiness. But for that walk he would never have met Bess. After all his anxiety in London Herrick wanted to have a quiet hour with the girl who was the light of his eyes. Jim did not call her this, for he was not a romantic person; but he felt he would like to be with her. And he was anxious to know what she had discovered about the pistol. Bess had not sent him a report as she had promised, and Herrick concluded that she had discovered nothing worth the sending. All the same he wished to see her at once. But he put off the happy hour. There was business to be done before pleasure could be taken.

It was after nine o'clock before Herrick arrived at the Beorminster Station. He had not sent for the cart, as he did not wish Stephen to know of his arrival at present. Dr. Jim had made up his mind to call in and get the truth out of the clergyman before returning to "The Pines." Therefore, determined to get his plans into thorough order, Jim left his portmanteau at Beorminster to be sent on the next morning and himself walked to Saxham.

In due time he arrived at the rectory, and was shown into the rector's study, where he found the man himself. The Revd. Pentland looked nervous at this untimely visit, and more so as he saw that Dr. Jim was not in evening dress and must therefore have come straight from town. Corn's conscience was uneasy, and every untoward event fluttered his nerves. However he composed himself with a strong effort, and asked Herrick to be seated.

"You have just come from town I see," he observed with a nervous glance.

"Yes! And I want particularly to have a chat with you before going to 'The Pines,' and on a painful subject, Mr. Corn."

The rector shivered, and turned even paler than usual. "Is there anything wrong?" he asked faintly. "Let me know the worst at once."

"Why should you expect any worst Mr. Corn?"

The man shook his head and passed a handkerchief across his dry lips. "I want to know the worst," he said again, without heeding the question. "I can see by your face that there is something wrong which concerns me."

Herrick gave a short laugh. "Upon my word you are a singularly indiscreet man Mr. Corn," he said, "you give yourself away right and left. When I met you first of all, you behaved in a foolish manner. Now you are very little better. You are a clergyman and a gentleman with an assured position. Why don't you assume the defensive and ask what I mean by such speeches as I have made--as I am now making!"

"Because I would have to tell you all about myself sooner or later," said Corn in a low voice. "You are a strong man, and I want to confide in someone like yourself. I am not strong. I was--once--but something happened," he sighed and nodded, "a terrible thing happened."

Herrick wondered if he was about to confess to the murder. However he did not wish to hurry the confession, which he saw Corn was on the point of making. He wondered that such a smart and soldierly-looking man should own himself to be so weak. "I am quite at your service," he said coldly, "and for my own part Mr. Corn I do not think you have used either myself or Mr. Marsh over well."

"In what way?" This time Corn really did look amazed.

"You told a lie to shield Don Manuel. It was the Mexican who struck that blow at my friend, and you knew it. How could you a gentleman, and a clergyman stoop to shield a would-be murderer."

Corn rose to his feet and braced himself to a great effort. "You are right," he said frankly, "but I was compelled to such a course."

Herrick nodded. "I know. I have heard all from Santiago."

Corn recoiled. "He told you," he grasped sitting down.

"Yes. He told me how he had you in his power; how he forced you to lie for him. I made him tell me the truth; now I wished to hear the confirmation of this story from you."

"It is true; it is true!" cried Corn desperately. "If he told you that I was a gambler, that I owed money--it is true----"

"I don t mean that so much," said Herrick sharply, "as to the accusation he makes against you of having murdered Colonel Carr."

The clergyman, who had been leaning his head on his arms in an agony of grief, looked up suddenly with a bewildered stare. "Santiago said that about me?" he demanded.

"It is not true?"

"It is the foulest lie he ever spoke!" cried Corn with indignation. "I am bad in many ways Dr. Herrick--yet I have my excuses, as you shall hear. But as to murdering Carr, I did nothing of the sort."

"How was it then that Don Manuel obtained from you the pistol with which the crime was committed?"

Corn looked round the room, and went to the door. Opening this he looked out for a moment to see that the coast was clear. Then he shut it locked it and came back to the fire-place looking more like a ghost than ever. "I picked it up," he said in a whisper, "yes, on the lawn of 'The Pines.' I knew that Colonel Carr had been shot with it. But I dare not tell."

"Why not? Were you afraid of being inculpated?"

"No." Corn hesitated and wiped his face. "I must tell you," he said with a gasp, "there is no help for it! This secret has weighed on my soul until I can bear it no longer. It was a woman who shot Carr."

Herrick rose slowly hardly believing his ears. "A woman?" he echoed.

Corn nodded and whispered again, "Mrs. Marsh," he said.

"That," said Herrick, "is a lie."

"It is the truth; I swear it is the truth. She shot Carr because he was about to disinherit her son. If you will sit down I will tell you all I know. I am glad that it has come to this," panted Corn wiping his forehead, "I am glad that I can tell you. The secret has nearly killed me."

"Did you tell Santiago?" asked Dr. Jim seated again and much bewildered.

"No, I told no one. Santiago on the evidence of that pistol really believed that I was guilty. But it is a lie--a lie, and he used it to force me to hide his wickedness. I protested my innocence; but he would never believe me. And that because I refused to say who was guilty."

Herrick placed his hands on the shoulders of the agitated man and forced him into the chair. "Come," said he in a more friendly tone, "you are not so weak or so bad as I thought Corn. You took the blame on yourself. Oh, I know you protested your innocence to Santiago; still he would always think you guilty. He is not the man to believe that any human being would shield another. Why did you shield Mrs. Marsh?"

"For her son's sake," said Corn, "and for the sake of Ida Endicotte."

Herrick stared. "What has she got to do with it?"

"I love her," said Corn in a low voice shading his eyes with the palm of his hand, "but she told me that her whole life was wrapped up in Stephen's. If he knew that his mother had killed Carr, he is quixotic enough to throw up the whole fortune out of shame. Then he would not be able to marry Ida and her heart would be broken. It is for this reason that I held my peace."

"Yet you let Stephen be assaulted," said Herrick, "his death would have ruined the life of Ida just the same."

"I did not know about the assault until after it was committed," said Corn quickly, "then Santiago--but I cannot tell you the story in scraps like this. Better let me tell you all about myself, and what led to my present weakness. Then you will appreciate what I have gone through."

Herrick nodded, "it is best so. Go on. You can safely confide in me, Corn. I only retain the right to use such information as may clear up the mystery of this murder."

Corn seized his arm. "You will not tell about Mrs. Marsh?" he panted.

"Not without consulting you. Be certain Corn that I am too true a friend to Stephen, to do anything harmful to him. But there is much at stake and I must be allowed to use my own judgment. You can rely on me."

"I am sure of that," said the clergyman in admiration, "you are a strong-willed man. I was strong myself once--in a way. But my crim............