The three men were amazed at this statement, so different from what they expected, and looked at Paul with incredulity. Herne was the first to recover his presence of mind, and, carried away by his feelings, fell on his knees with clasped hands in a frenzy¹ of relief and gratitude².  
"O God!" he cried with a broken voice, "I thank Thee that Thou hast removed this doubt from my mind, this sin from my soul. I am innocent of this crime."
 
"I knew you were," said Chaskin, laying a kind hand on his friend's shoulder. "Did I not tell you so? Rise, Darcy, and let us hear the particulars. No doubt Mr. Mexton can tell us how the crime was committed."
 
"Certainly," said Paul, who had thrown himself into a chair. "But I have no breath left to tell you the details. They are all in the confession⁴ which Drek holds in his hand."
 
"Read the confession, Mr. Drek," said the Vicar.
 
The inspector⁵, who was rapidly glancing over the paper, nodded in an absent manner, being taken up with what he was reading. His face expressed amazement⁶, and when he came to the end of the confession he looked round at the assembled company with an uneasy smile. Evidently he had fallen several degrees in his own estimation.
 
"She did it, sure enough;" he said, in a crestfallen⁷ manner; "but who would have suspected that harmless old woman? I put the blame on to everyone but her; and she must have chuckled⁸ at the mistakes I made. Well, well; even detectives are mortal, and liable to err⁹; it is only in novels that they never go wrong. But then," added Drek, with sarcasm¹⁰, "the detective of a novel knows as much as the author who writes about him."
 
"What was the motive¹¹ for the crime?" asked Herne, abruptly¹²; he was not interested in the inspector's feelings.
 
"Love of her grandson."
 
"Her grandson!" echoed Chaskin. "I did not know she had one!"
 
"Yes; Lucas Lovel is her grandson."
 
"Ah!" said Herne, thoughtfully; "I am not surprised. Lovel told me that he was half a gipsy; but I did not know he was so near of kin³ to Mother Jimboy. Why did he not admit the relationship?"
 
"He did--to me," said Paul, "but he did not think it necessary to make the announcement public. I don't blame him. Gran Jimboy was hardly a relative to be proud of."
 
"I wonder if Lovel knew that his grandmother was guilty," said Chaskin, doubtfully.
 
"No, sir; had he thought so he would not have accused you," cried Drek, with energy. "Besides," he continued, tapping the paper, "in this confession she declares that she told no one."
 
"Let me hear the details," said Herne; and this request being echoed by Chaskin--for Paul, of course, was already acquainted with the contents of the document--Drek read out the confession of Mrs. Jimboy. The statement ran as follows:
 
"My name is Nance¹³ Jimboy, but I was born a Lovel. My son was a musician, and, tired of gipsy life, he went among the Gentiles, with whom he became famous. He married a Gorgio woman against my wish, and cut himself off from the gentle Romany. His rani died in giving birth to a son--Lucas Lovel--for his father took my maiden¹⁴ name when he turned to the Gentiles. Then my son perished, and the boy was brought up by a maiden aunt. I knew all about his life, and watched his progress, as he was my only grandson. He became a painter, and wandered abroad for many years. When he returned he came down to Barnstead, and fell in love with the beautiful girl who was to marry Squire¹⁵ Herne. I say she was beautiful, but she had a bad heart, and would have ruined my grandson. For Squire Herne I cared nothing, but I thought a great deal of Lucas: bone of my bone he is, and flesh of my flesh. I heard of his return, of his living in Barnstead, and of his love for that wicked witch. I came to watch over him; and at first I tried to part him from Miss Lester by writing to Squire Herne of her stolen meetings with my grandson. I thought that in his rage he might kill her, and so she would be removed from the path of Lucas."
 
"The wicked woman!" cried Chaskin, aghast at this cool and cynical¹⁶ statement.
 
"It is true, it is true!" groaned¹⁷ Herne, remorsefully¹⁸. "I would have killed her on that night, but that the Lord stayed my hand. That gipsy knew me better than I did myself."
 
"Did you know that she wrote the letters?" asked Paul.
 
"I did; they were not signed, but for certain reasons, which I need not explain, I fancied that Mrs. Jimboy was my correspondent. I taxed her with the writing of them, and she admitted the fact. But I daresay she tells all this in her confession."
 
"No," replied Paul, shaking his head. "However, she tells a good deal. Go on, Drek."
 
"My object in getting rid of Miss Lester," said Drek, reading from the document, "was to let Lucas make a good marriage. I knew that he was loved by Miss Clyde, of Clyde's Farm, a rich lady who was devoted¹⁹ to him. Lucas is not clever enough to make money for himself, and as he had very little I wanted him to place himself beyond the reach of poverty by wedding with Miss Clyde. I urged him to do so; but, not knowing that I was his grandmother, he refused to speak with me on the subject. He continued to meet Miss Lester, until, by pretending to read her hand, I gave her a friendly warning of what she might expect if she continued her evil ways with Lucas."
 
"That was the prophecy on the day before the murder," said Paul grimly. "I knew all Mother Jimboy's palmistry was humbug²⁰."
 
"Miss Lester laughed at my warning; so when she left Lucas I saw him again, and revealed our relationship; also I urged him for his own sake to give up his foolish fancy for the doctor's daughter and marry Miss Clyde. He was much astonished to learn that he was my grandson, but refused to leave Miss Lester or to marry the other lady. Also, he told me that he had fancied, from certain words let fall by his aunt--a foolish woman--that he was partly a gipsy, and had said as much to a lady called Catinka, who in her turn told Squire Herne. Well, I could not induce Lucas to give over his folly²¹, but when he told me that he intended to meet............