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BY THE SAME AUTHOR
Crown 8vo., cloth, 3s. 6d.
THE LADY FROM NOWHERE
‘" The Lady from Nowhere " is worthy of its author’s reputation.
It begins with a mysterious murder, continues with the researches of a
clever but oft-bafﬂed detective, and ends with poetic justice to all con-
cerned. The story is well put together.’—Pall Mall Gazelle.
‘We have the interest well sustained to the very last, and we shall
not spoil Mr. Hume’s most excellent story by divulging who the
murderer was. . . . No one who begins the book will fail to read it
through to the very end.'—Public Opinion.
‘It is seldom that an author who made such a hit as Mr. Fergus
Hume did in “The Mystery of a Hansom Cab," follows it up with
another triumph of a similar character. It is due, however, to the
author of that startling piece of work to say that he has hit the bull’s-
eye again. Everybody who enjoys a few hours’ exciting reading should
procure “The Lady from Nowhere." In its way, it is a great story.'—-
Sporting Lg'fz.
‘ The story is a good example of its kind, and even the most expert
reader of such stories will have considerable difﬁculty in ﬁxing the
responsibility for the murder on the right shoulders until the author
chooses to reveal it.’-Smlrman.
‘ Mr. Fergus Hume’s name on the back is a guarantee that it will be
good in its own particular line. ’—Spectator.
LONDON: CHATTO & WINDUS, HI ST. MARTIN'S LANE, W.C.


THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY


THE
MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
BY
FERGUS HUME
AUTHOR on
Tue MYSTERY or A HANSON can; ‘Ti-uz LADY FROM uowuexs.’ arc.


LONDON
CHATTO 8: WINDUS
r901


00.23
H98 W;
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A MIDNIGHT SURPRISE - - - I
II. THE HUT ON THE IIEATII - - - 16
g III. AN ELEGANT EPISTLE - - - _ 33
'— Iv. ANOTHER SURPRISE - - - - 47
CI“ v. A NINE DAYS’ WONDER - - - 62
5 v1. THE MISSING KEY - - - - 77
Z VII. IN DIXON’S RENTS A - - - 92
zvm. AN IMPORTANT INTERVIEW - - - 107
3' IX. INVESTIGATION - - - - 122
a X. ANOTHER DISAPPEARANCE - - - 137
; XI. THE STRANGER - - - - 152
\Z
(7 XII. A STRANGE STORY - - - - 163
n XIII. A STRANGE sTORY—contz'nuea’ - - - I79
XIV. THE ENMITY OF CAPTAIN LESTRANGE - 191
é\xv. TROUBLE - - - - - 204
b XVI. ALAN’S DEFENCE - S - - 218
N XVII. JOE’S EVIDENCE - - - - 231
_,§XVIII. A PORTION OF THE TRUTH - - - 243


vi CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGI
XIX. A REAPPEARANCE - - - - 256
XX. THE AMAZEMENT OF ALAN THOROLD - - 269
XXI. THE STORY OF THE PAST - ~ - 282
XXII. THE BEGINNING OF THE END- - - 295
XXIII. ONE PART OF THE TRUTH - -> - 308
XXIV. THE OTHER PART OF THE TRUTH - - 322


THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
CHAPTER I
A MIDNIGHT SURPRISE
STEERING his course by a tapering spire
notched in the eye of the sunset, a tramp
slouched along the Heathton Road. From the
western sky a ﬂood of crimson light poured over
the dusty white highway, which led straightly
across the moor. To right and left, acres of
sear coarse herbage rolled towards the distant
hills, now black against the ﬂaming horizon.
In the quivering air gnats danced and ﬂickered;
the earth panted with the thirst of a lengthy
drought, and the sky arched itself over the
heat of a ﬁery furnace.
For many hours the tramp had held on
steadily in the pitiless glare of the mid June _
I


2 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
sun, and now that he saw ahead of him the
spire and house-roofs and encircling trees of
the village whither he was bound, a sigh of
relief burst from him.
To ease his aching feet he sat down beside
a mouldering millstone and wiped his beaded
brow with a red bandana. He did not swear,
which was singular in a tramp.
Apparently he had but recently joined the
cadging profession, for about him there lingered
an air of respectability and the marks of a
prosperity not wholly decayed. He was stout,
rubicund of countenance, and he wheezed like
a sick grampus. Watery gray eyes and a
strawberry nose revealed the seasoned toper ;
thick lips and a slack mouth the sensualist. As
a begging friar of mediaeval times he would
have been altogether admirable; as a modern
tramp he was out of the picture.
Clothed in a broadcloth frock-coat con-
siderably the worse for wear, he wore—oddly
enough for a tramp—gaiters over his gouty-
looking boots. His black gloves were darned
at the ﬁnger-tips, and his battered silk hat had
been ironed and brushed with sedulous care.


A MIDNIGHT SURPRISE 3
This rook-like plumage was now plentifully
sprinkled with the white dust of travel. His
gait, in spite of his blistered feet, was digniﬁed,
and his manners were imposing.
The road was lonely, likewise the heath.
There was no one in sight, not even a return-
ing ploughman; but the recumbent wayfarer
could hear, mellowed by distance, the bells of
homing cows. Beasts as they were, he envied
them. They at least had a place to sleep in
for the night ; he was without a home, without
even the necessary money tO procure shelter.
Luckily it was summer-time, dry and warm.
Also the tramp affected the philosopher.
‘This,’ he remarked, eyeing a Sixpence ex-
tracted from the knotted corner Of his handker-
chief, ‘is a drink—two drinks if I take beer,
which is gouty. But it is not a meal nor a
bed. No! one drink, and a morsel Of bread-
and-cheese. But the bed! Ah!’ He stared
at the coin with a Sigh, as though he hoped it
would swell into a shilling. It did not, and he
sighed again. ‘Shall I have good luck in this
place?’ cried he. ‘ Heads I Shall, tails I shan’t.’
The coin spun and fell heads. ‘ Ha!’ said the
l—-—2


4 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
tramp, getting on to his feet, ‘this must be
seen to. I ﬂy to good fortune on willing feet,’
and he resumed his trudging.
A quarter of an hour brought him to the
encircling wood. He passed beyond pine and
larch and elm into a cosy little village with one
street. This was broken in the centre by an
expanse of green turf surrounded by red-roofed
houses, amongst them—as he saw from the
swinging sign—a public-house, called, quaintly
enough, the Good Samaritan.
‘ Scriptural,’ said the stranger—‘ possibly
charitable. Let us see.’ He strode forward
into the taproom.
In the oiliest of tones he inquired for the
landlord. But in this case, it appeared, there
was no landlord, for a vixenish little woman,
lean as a cricket and as shrill, bounced out with
the information that she, Mrs. Timber, was the
landlady. Her husband, she snapped out, was
dead. To the tramp this hostess appeared less
promising than the seductive sign, and he
quailed somewhat at the sight of her. How-
ever, with a brazen assurance born of habit, he
put a bold face on it, peremptorily demanding


A MIDNIGHT SURPRISE 5
bread, cheese, and ale. The request for a bed
he left in abeyance, for besides the vixenish
Mrs. Timber there hovered around a stalwart
pot-boy, whose rolled-up sleeves revealed a
biceps both admirable and formidable.
‘ Bread, cheese, and ale,’ repeated the land-
lady, with a sharp glance at her guest’s clerical
dress, ‘for this. And who may you be, sir?’
she asked, with a world of sarcasm expended
on the “ sir.”
‘My name is Cicero Gramp. I am a pro-
fessor of elocution and eloquence.’
‘H0! at play-actor ?’ Mrs. Timber became
more disdainful than ever.
‘Not at all; I am not on the boards. I
recite to the best families. The Bishop of
Idlechester has complimented me on my ’
‘ Here's the bread-and-cheese,’ interrupted
the landlady, ‘likewise the beer. Sixpence !’
Very reluctantly Mr. Gramp produced his
last remaining coin. She dropped it into a
capacious pocket, and retired without vouch-
saﬁng him another word. Cicero, somewhat
discouraged by this reception, congratulated
himself that the night was ﬁne for out-of-door


6 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
slumber. He ensconced himself in a corner
with his frugal supper, and listened to the
chatter going on around him. It appeared to
be concerned with the funeral of a local
magnate. Despite the prophecy of the coin,
now in Mrs. Timber’s pocket, Cicero failed to
see how he c0uld extract good fortune out of
his present position. However, he listened;
some chance word might mean money.
‘Ah! 'tis a ﬁne dry airy vault,’ said a lean
man who proved to be a stonemason. ‘ Never
built a ﬁner, I didn’t, nor my mates neither.
An' Muster Marlow ’ll have it all to 'isself.’
‘ Such a situation !’ croaked another. ‘ Bang
opposite the Lady Chapel! An’ the view
from that there vault! I don’t know as any
corp ’ud require a ﬁner.’
‘ Mr. Marlow ’11 be lonely by himself,’ sighed
a buxom woman; ‘there’s room for twenty
cofﬁns, an’ only one in the vault. ’Taint
natural-like.’
‘Well,’ chimed in the village schoolmaster,
"twill soon ﬁll. There’s Miss Marlow.’
‘ Dratted nonsense !’ cried Mrs. Timber,
making a dash into the company with a tankard


A MIDNIGHT SURPRISE 7
of beer in each hand. ‘ Miss Sophy ’ll marry
Mr. Thorold, won’t she? An’ he, as the Squire
of Heathton, ’as a family vault, ain’t he?
She'll sleep beside him as his wife, lawfully
begotten.’
‘The Thorolds’ vault is crowded,’ objected
the stonemason. ‘ Why, there’s three-hundred-
year dead folk there! A very Old gentry lot,
the Thorolds.’
‘ Older than your Marlows 1' snapped Mrs.
Timber. ‘ Who was he afore he came to take
the Moat House ﬁve year ago? Came from
nowhere—a tree without a root.’
The schoolmaster contradicted.
‘Nay, he came from Africa, I know—from
Mashonaland, which is said to be the Ophir
of King Solomon. And Mr. Marlow was a
millionaire !’
‘Much good his money ’11 do him now,’
groaned the buxom woman, who was a Dis-
senter. ‘Ah! Dives in torment.’
‘You've no call to say that, Mrs. Berry.
Mr. Marlow wasn’t a bad man.’
‘ He was charitable, I don’t deny, an’ went
to church regular,’ assented Mrs. Berry; ‘but


8 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
he died awful sudden. Seems like a judgment
for something he’d done.’
‘He died quietly,’ said the schoolmaster.
‘Dr. Warrender told me all about it—a kind
of ﬁt at ten o’clock last Thursday, and on
Friday night he passed away as a sleeping
child. He was not even sufﬁciently conscious
to say good-bye to Miss Sophy.’
‘Ah, poor girl! she’s gone to the seaside
with Miss Parsh to nurse her sorrow.’
‘ It will soon pass—soon pass,’ observed the
schoolmaster, waving his pipe. ‘The young
don’t think much of death. Miss Sophy's rich,
too—rich as the Queen of Sheba, and she will
marry Mr. Thorold in a few months. Funeral
knells will give way to wedding-bells, Mrs.
Berry.’
‘Ah !’ sighed Mrs. Berry, feeling she was
called upon for an appropriate sentiment; ‘you
may say so, Mr. Stack. Such is life !’
Cicero, munching his bread-and-cheese, felt
that his imposing personality was being neg-
lected, and seized upon what he deemed his
opportunity.
‘If this company will permit,’ he said, ‘I


A MIDNIGHT SURPRISE 9
propose now to give a recitation apropos of the
present melancholy event. Need I say I refer
to the lamented death of Mr. Marlow ?’
‘I’ll have no godless mumming here,’ said
Mrs. Timber ﬁrmly. ‘Besides, what do you
know about Mr. Marlow ?’
Whereupon Cicero lied lustily to impress the
bumpkins, basing his ﬁction upon such facts
as his ears had enabled him to come by.
‘Marlow!’ he wailed, drawing forth his red
bandana for effect. ‘ Did I not know him as
I know myself? Were we not boys together
till he went to Africa ?’
‘ Perhaps you can tell us about Mr. Marlow,’
said the schoolmaster eagerly. ‘None of us
knows exactly who he was. He appeared here
with his daughter some ﬁve years ago, and
took the Moat House. He was rich, and
people said he had made his riches in South
Africa.’
‘ He did! he did!’ said Cicero, deeply affected.
‘ Millions he was worth—millions! I came
hither to see him, and I arrive to find the fond
friend of my youth dead. Oh, Jonathan, my
brother Jonathan !’


IO THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘ His name was Richard,’ said Mrs. Timber
suspiciously.
‘I know it, I know it. I use the appellation
Jonathan merely in illustration of the close
friendship which was between us. I am
David.’
‘H’m!’ snorted Mrs. Timber, eyeing him
closely, ‘and who was Mr. Marlow ?’
This leading question perplexed Mr. Gramp
not a little, for he knew nothing about the
man.
‘What !’ he cried, with simulated horror.
‘Reveal the secrets of the dead! ,Never!
never 1'
‘Secrets?’ repeated the lean stonemason
eagerly. ‘Ahl I always thought Mr. Marlow
had ’em. He looked over his shoulder too
often for my liking. An’ there was a look on
his face frequent which pointed, I may say, to
a violent death.’
‘Ah! say not that my friend Dick Marlow
came to an untimely end.’
This outcry came from Cicero; it was
answered by Mrs. Timber.
‘ He died of a ﬁt,’ she said tartly, ‘ and that


A MIDNIGHT SURPRISE II
quietly enough, considerin’, as Dr. Warrender
can testify. But now we’ve talked enough, an’
I’m going to lock up; so get out, all of you !’
In a few minutes the taproom was cleared
and the lights out. Cicero, greatly depressed,
lingered in the porch, wondering how to cir-
cumvent the dragon.
‘Well,’ snapped that amiable beast, ‘what
are you waitin’ for ?’
‘ You couldn’t give me a bed for the night?’
‘Course I could, for a shillin'.’
‘ I haven’t a Shilling, I regret to say.’
‘Then you’d best get one, or go without
your bed,’ replied the lady, and banged the
door in his face. ‘
Under this last indignity even Cicero's
philosophy gave way, and he launched an
ecclesiastic curse at the inhospitable inn.
Fortunately the weather was warm and
tranquil. Not a breath of wind stirred the
trees. The darkling earth was Silent—silent
as the watching stars. Even the sordid soul of
the vagabond was stirred by the solemn majesty
of the Sky. He removed his battered hat and
looked up.


12 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘ The heavens are telling the glory of God,’
he said; but, not recollecting the rest of the
text, he resumed his search for a resting-place.
It was now only between nine and ten
o’clock, yet, as he wandered down the silent
street, he could see no glimmer of a light in
any window. His feet took him, half un-
consciously as it were, by the path leading
towards the tapering spire. He went on
through a belt of pines which surrounded the
church, and came suddenly upon the grave-
yard, populous with the forgotten dead—at
least, he judged they were forgotten by the
state of the tombstones.
On the hither side he came upon a circular
chapel, with lance-shaped windows and mar-
vellous decoration wrought in gray-stone on
the outer walls. Some distance off rose a low
wall, encircling the graveyard, and beyond the
belt of pines through which he had just passed
stretched the league-long herbage of the moor.
He guessed this must be the Lady Chapel.
Between the building and the low wall he
noticed a large tomb of white marble, sur-
mounted by a winged angel with a trumpet.


A MIDNIGHT SURPRISE r 3
‘ Dick Marlow’s tomb,’ he surmised. Then he
proceeded to walk round it as that of his own
familiar friend, for he had already half persuaded
himself into some such belief.
But he realized very soon that he had not
come hither for sight-seeing, for his limbs
ached, and his feet burned, and his eyes were
heavy with sleep. He rolled along towards a
secluded corner, where the round of the Lady
Chapel curved into the main wall of the church.
There he found a grassy nook, warm and dry.
He removed his gloves with great care, placed
them in his silk hat, and then took off his boots
and loosened his clothes. Finally he settled
himself down amid the grass, put a hand up
either coat-sleeve for warmth, and was soon
wrapped in a sound slumber.
He slept on undisturbed until one o’clock,
when—as say out-of-door observers—the earth
turns in her slumber. This vagrant, feeling as
it were the stir of Nature, turned too. A lowing
of cows came from the moor beyond the pines.
A breath of cool air swept through the branches,
and the sombre boughs swayed like the plumes
of a hearse. Across the face of the sky ran a


14 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
shiver. He heard distinctly what he had not
noticed before, the gush of running water. He
roused himself and sat up alert, and strained
his hearing. What was it he heard now? He
listened and strained again. Voices surely!
Men’s voices !
There could be no mistake. Voices he
heard, though he could not catch the words
they said. A tremor shook his whole body.
Then, curiosity getting the better of his fear,
he wriggled forward ﬂat on his stomach until
he was in such a position that he could peer
round the corner of the Lady Chapel. Here
he saw a sight which scared him.
Against the white wall of the mausoleum
bulked two ﬁgures, one tall, the other short.
The shorter carried a lantern. They stood on
the threshold of the iron door, and the tall man
was listening. They were nearer now, so that
he could hear their talk very plainly.
‘ All is quiet,’ said the taller man. ‘ No one
will suspect. We’ll get him away easily.’
Then Cicero heard the key grate in the
lock, saw the door open and the men disappear
into the tomb. He was sick with terror, and


A MIDNIGHT SURPRISE I 5
was minded to make a clean bolt of it; but
with the greatest effort he controlled his fears
and remained. There might be money in this
adventure.
In ten minutes the men came out carrying a
dark form between them, as Cicero guessed,
the dead body Of Richard Marlow. They set
down their burden, made fast the door, and
took up again the sinister load. He saw them
carry it towards the low stone wall. Over
this they lifted it, climbed over themselves, and
disappeared into the pine-woods.
Cicero waited until he could no longer hear
the rustle of their progress; then he crept
cautiously forward and tried the door of the
tomb. It was fast locked.
‘ Resurrection - men! body - snatchers !' he
moaned.
He felt shaken to his very soul by the
ghastliness of the whole proceeding. Then
suddenly the awkwardness Of his own position,
if by chance anyone should ﬁnd him there,
rushed in upon his mind, and, without so much
as another glance, he made Off as quickly as
he could in the opposite direction.


CHAPTER II
THE HUT ON THE HEATH
‘WELL, I’m glad it’s all over,’ said the footman,
waving a cigar stolen from the box of his
master. ‘ Funerals don’t suit me.’
‘Yet we must all ’ave one of our own some
day,’ said the cook, who was plainly under the
inﬂuence of gin ; ‘an’ that pore Miss Sophy—
me ’art bleeds for ’er !’
‘An’ she with ’er millions,’ growled a red-
faced coachman. ‘Wot rot !’
‘Come now, john, you know Miss Sophy
was fond of her father ’-this from a sprightly
housemaid, who was trimming a hat.
‘I dunno why,’ said John. ‘Master was
as cold as ice, an’ as silent as ’arf a dozen
graves.’
The scullery-maid shuddered, and spread out
her grimy hands.


THE HUT ON THE HEATH 17
‘Oh, Mr. John, don’t talk of graves, please!
I’ve ’ad the nightmare over ’em.’
‘ Don’t put on airs an’ make out as 'ow you've
got nerves, Cammelliar,’ put in the cook tear-
fully. ‘ It’s me as ’as ’em-I’ve a bundle of ’em
-—real shivers. Ah, well! we’re cut down like
green bay-trees, to be sure. Pass that bottle,
Mr. Thomas.’
This discussion took place in the kitchen of
the Moat House. The heiress and Miss Parsh,
the housekeeper, had departed for the seaside
immediately after the funeral, and in the absence
of control, the domestics were making merry.
To be sure, Mr. Marlow’s old and trusted
servant, Joe Brill, had been told off to keep
them in order, but just at present his grief
was greater than his sense of duty. He was
busy now sorting papers in the library—hence
the domestic chaos.
It was, in truth, a cheerful kitchen, more
especially at the present moment, with the
noonday sun streaming in through the open
casements. A vast apartment with a vast ﬁre~
place of the baronial hall kind: brown oaken
walls and raftered roof; snow-white dresser
2


18 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
and huge deal table, and a ﬂoor of shining
white tiles.
There was a moment’s silence after the last
unanswerable observation of the cook. It was
broken by a voice at the open door—a voice
which boomed like the drone of a bumble-bee.
‘Peace be unto this house,’ said the voice
richly, ‘and plenty be its portion.’
The women screeched, the men swore—since
the funeral their nerves had not been quite in
order—and all eyes turned towards the door.
There, in the hot sunshine, stood an enormously
fat old man, clothed in black, and perspiring
profusely. It was, in fact, none other than
Cicero Gramp, come in the guise of Autolycus
to pick up news and unconsidered triﬂes. He
smiled benignly, and raised his fat hand.
‘ Peace, maidservants and menservants,’ said
he, after the manner of Chadband. ‘There is
no need for alarm. I am a stranger, and you
must take me in.’
‘ Who the devil are you ?’ queried the coach-
man.
‘We want no tramps here,’ growled the foot-
man.


THE HUT ON THE HEATH 19
‘ I am no tramp,’ said Cicero mildly, stepping
into the kitchen. ‘ I am a professor of elocution
and eloquence, and a friend of your late master’s.
He went up in the world, I dropped down.
Now I come to him for assistance, and I ﬁnd
him occupying the narrow house; yes, my
friends, Dick Marlow is as low as the worms
whose prey he soon will be. Pax vobis-
cum!’
‘ Calls master “ Dick,” ’ said the footman.
‘Sez ’e’s an old friend,’ murmured the
cook.
They looked at each other, and the thought
in every mind was the same. The servants
were one and all anxious to hear the genesis of
their late master, who had dropped into the
Moat House, as from the skies, some ﬁve years
before. Mrs. Crammer, the cook, rose to the
occasion with a curtsy.
‘I’m sure, sir, I’m sorry the master ain’t
here to see you,’ She said, polishing a Chair
with her apron. ‘But as you says—or as I
take it you means—’e’s gone where we must
all go. Take a seat, sir, and I’ll tell Joe, who’s
in the library.’
2—2


20 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘joe—my old friend Joe !’ said Cicero, sitting
down like a mountain. ‘Ah ! the faithful
fellow !’
This random remark brought forth informa-
tion, which was Cicero’s intention in making it.
‘ Faithful!’ growled the coachman, ‘an’ why
not? joe Brill was paid higher nor any of us,
he was; just as of living all his life with an
iceberg deserved it !’
‘Poor Dick was an iceberg !’ sighed Cicero
pensively. ‘A cold, secretive man.’
‘Ah !’ said Mrs. Crammer, wiping her eye,
‘you may well say that. He ’ad secrets, I’m
sure, and guilty ones, too !’
‘ We all have our skeletons, ma'am. But
would you mind giving me something to eat
and to drink P for I have walked a long way. I
am too poor,’ said Cicero, with a sweet smile,
‘ to ride, as in the days of my infancy, but .rpero
melz'om.’
‘ Talking about skeletons, sir,’ said the foot-
man when Mr. Gramp’s jaws were fullyoccupied,
‘ what about the master’s ?’
‘Ah!’ said Gramp profoundly. ‘What in-
deed !'


THE HUT ON THE HEATH 21
‘But whatever it is, it has to do with the
West Indies,’ said the man.
‘Lor!’ exclaimed the housemaid, ‘and how
do you know that, Mr. Thomas?’
‘ From observation, Jane, my dear,’ Thomas
smiled loftily. ‘A week or two afore master
had the ﬁt as took him, I brought in a
letter with the West Indy stamp. He turned
white as chalk when he saw it, and tore it
open afore I could get out of the room. I
’ad to fetch a glass of whisky. He was struck
all of a ’eap—gaspin’, faintin’, and cussin'
orful.’
‘Did he show it to Miss Sophy ?’ asked
Mrs. Crammer.
‘ Not as I knows of. He kept his business
to hisself,’ replied Thomas.
Gramp was taking in all this with greedy
ears.
‘ Ha !’ he said, ‘when you took in the letter,
might you have looked at the postmark, my
friend ?’
With an access of colour, the footman ad
mitted that he had been curious enough to
do so.


22 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘ And the postmark was Kingston, Jamaica,’
said he.
‘ It recalls my youth,’ said Cicero. ‘ Ah ! they
were happy, happy days !’
‘ What was Mr. Marlow, sir?’
‘A planter of—of—rice,’ hazarded Gramp.
He knew that there were planters in the West
Indies, but he was not quite sure what it was
they planted. ‘ Rice— acres of it !'
‘ Well, he didn’t make his money out of that,
sir,’ growled the coachman.
‘No, he did not,’ admitted the professor of
elocution. ‘ He acquired his millions in
Mashonaland—the Ophir of the Jews.’
This last piece of knowledge had been ac-
quired from Slack, the schoolmaster.
‘He was precious careful not to part with
none of it,’ said the footman.
‘Except to Dr. Warrender,’ said the cook.
‘The doctor was always screwing money out
of him. Not that it was so much ’im as ’is
wife. I can’t abear that doctor’s wife—a stuck-
up peacock, I call her. She fairly ruined her
husband in clothes. Miss Sophy didn’t like
her, neither.’


THE HUT ON THE HEATH 23
‘Dick’s child!’ cried Gramp, who had by
this time procured a cigar from the footman.
‘ Ah ! is little Sophy still alive ?’
He lighted the cigar and puffed luxuriously.
‘Still alive 1’ echoed Mrs. Crammer, ‘and
as pretty as a picture. Dark air, dark eyes—-
not a bit like ’er father.’ ’
‘ No,’ said Cicero, grasping the idea. ‘ Dick
was fair when we were boys. I heard rumours
that little Sophy was engaged——let me see—
to a Mr. Thorold.’
‘ Alan Thorold, Esquire,’ corrected the coach-
man grufﬂy, ‘one of the Oldest families here-
abouts, as lives at the Abbey Farm. He’s
gone with her to the seaside.’
‘ To the seaside ? Not to Brighton ?’
‘Nothin’ of the sort—t0 Bournemouth, if
you know where that is.’
‘I know some things, my friend,’ said Cicero
mildly. ‘It was Bournemouth I meant—not
unlike Brighton, I think, Since both names
begin with a B. I know that Miss Marlow—
dear little Sophy !—is staying at the Imperial
Hotel, Bournemouth.’
‘ You’re just wrong!’ cried Thomas, falling


24 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
into the trap; ‘she is at the Soudan Hotel.
I’ve got the address to send on letters.’
‘Can I take them?’ asked Gramp, rising. ‘I
am going to Bournemouth to see little Sophy
and Mr. Thorold. I shall tell them of your
hospitality.’
Before the footman could reply to this
generous offer, the page-boy of the establish-
ment darted in, much excited.
‘Oh, here’s a go !’ he exclaimed. ‘Dr.
Warrender’s run away, an’ the Quiet Gentle—
man’s followed !’
‘ Wot d’ye mean, Billy ?’
‘ Wot I say. The doctor ain’t bin ’ome all
night, nor all mornin’, an’ Mrs. Warrender’s in
hysterics over him. Their ’ousemaid I met
shoppin’ tole me.’
The servants looked at one another. Here
was more trouble, more excitement.
‘ And the Quiet Gentleman ?’ asked the cook
with ghoulish interest.
‘ He’s gone, too. Went out larst night, an’
never come back. Mrs. Marry thinks he’s bin
murdered.’
There was a babel of voices and cries, but


THE HUT ON THE HEATH 25
after a moment quiet was restored. Then
Cicero placed his hand on the boy's head.
‘ My boy,’ he said pompously, ‘who is the
Quiet Gentleman? Let us be clear upon the
point of the Quiet Gentleman.’
‘ Don’t you know, sir?’ put in the eager cook.
‘ He's a mystery, ’aving bin staying at Mrs.
Marry’s cottage, she a lone widder taking in
boarders.’
‘ I’ll give a week’s notice !’ sobbed the
scullery-maid. ‘These crimes is too much
for me.’
‘ I didn’t say the Quiet Gentleman ’ad been
murdered,’ said Billy, the page; ‘but Mrs.
Marry only thinks so, cos ’e ain’t come ’ome.’
‘As like as not he’s cold and stiff in some
lonely gravel’ groaned Mrs. Crammer hope-
fully.
‘The Quiet Gentleman,’ said Cicero, bent
upon acquiring further information — ‘ tall,
yellow-bearded, with a high forehead and a
bald head ?’
‘Well, I never, sir!’ cried Jane, the house-
maid. ‘If you ain’t describing Dr. Warrender!
Did you know him, sir?’


26 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
Cicero was quite equal to the occasion.
‘I knew him professionally. He attended
me for a relaxed throat. I was was at preterm
ni/zz'l until he cured me. But what was this
mysterious gentleman like ? Short, eh ?’
‘No; tall and thin, with a stoop. Long
white hair, longer beard and black eyes like
gimblets,’ gabbled the cook. ‘I met ’im arter
dark one evenin’, and I declare as ’is eyes
were glow-worms. Ugh! They looked me
through and through. I’ve never bin the same
woman since.’
At this moment a raucous voice came from
the inner doorway.
‘What the devil’s all this?’ was the polite
question.
Cicero turned, and saw a heavily-built man
surveying the company in general, and himself
in particular, anything but favourably. His
face was a mahogany hue, and he had a veri-
table tangle of whiskers and hair. The whole 4
cut of the man was distinctly nautical, his
trousers being of the dungaree, and his pea-
jacket plentifully sprinkled with brass buttons.
In his ears he wore rings of gold, and his


THE HUT ON THE HEATH 27
clenched ﬁsts hung by his side as though eager
for any emergency, and ‘the sooner the better.’
That was how be impressed Cicero, who, in
no wise fancying the expression on his face,
edged towards the door.
‘Oh, joe !’ shrieked the cook, ‘wot a turn
you give me ! an’ Sich news as we’ve ’ad !’
‘ News!’ said joe uneasily, his eyes still on
Cicero.
‘ Mrs. Warrender’s lost her husband, and the
Quiet Gentleman’s disappeared mysterious !’
‘ Rubbish ! Get to your work, all of you!’
So saying, joe drove the frightened crowd
hither and thither to their respective duties,
and Cicero, somewhat to his dismay, found
himself alone with the buccaneer, as he had
inwardly dubbed the new-comer.
‘Who the devil are you?’ asked joe, ad-
vancing.
‘Fellow,’ replied Cicero, getting into the
doorway, ‘I am a friend of your late master.
Cicero Gramp is my name. I came here to
see Dick Marlow, but I ﬁnd he’s gone aloft.’
joe turned pale, even through his tan.
‘A friend of Mr. Marlow,’ he repeated _


28 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
hoarsely. ‘That’s a liel I’ve been with him
these thirty years, and I never saw you !’
‘ Not in jamaica ?’ inquired Cicero sweetly.
‘ Jamaica ! What do you mean ?’
‘What I wrote in that letter your master
received before he died.’
‘Oh, you liar! I know the man who wrote
it.’ Joe clenched his ﬁsts more tightly and
swung forward. ‘You’re a rank impostor, and
I’ll hand you over to the police, lest I smash
you completely !’
Cicero saw he had made a mistake, but he
did not ﬂinch. Hardihood alone could carry
him through now.
‘ Do,’ he said. ‘I’m particularly anxious to
see the police, Mr. Joe Brill.’
‘Who are you, in Heaven’s name ?' shouted
Joe, much agitated. ‘ Do you come from him ?’
‘ Perhaps I do,’ answered Cicero, wondering
to whom the ‘him ’ might now refer.
‘Then go back and tell him he’s too late—-
too late, curse him! and you too, you lubber !’
‘Very good.’ Cicero stepped out into the
hot sunshine. ‘ I’ll deliver your message—for
a sovereign.’


THE HUT ON THE HEATH 29
Joe Brill tugged at his whiskers, and cast an
uneasy glance around. Evidently, he was by
no means astute, and the present situation was
rather too much for him. His sole idea, for some
reason best known to himself, was to get rid of
Cicero. With a groan, he plunged his huge
ﬁst into his pocket and pulled out a gold coin.
‘ Here, take it, and go to hell !’ he said,
throwing it to Cicero.
‘ Mariner, fata oésmnt,’ rolled Gramp in his
deep voice.
Then he strode haughtily away. He looked
round as he turned the corner of the house,
and saw Joe clutching his iron-gray locks, still
at the kitchen door.
So with a guinea in his pocket and a certain
amount of knowledge which he hoped would
bring him many more, Cicero departed, con-
siderably uplifted. At the village grocery he
bought bread, meat, and a bottle of whisky,
then he proceeded to shake the dust of Heath-
ton off his feet. As he stepped out on to the
moor he recalled the Latin words he had used,
and he shuddered.
‘ Why did I say that?’ he murmured. ‘ The


30 THE MILLIQNAIRE MYSTERY
words came into my head somehow. Just
when Joe was talking of my employer, too!
Who is my employer? What has he to do
with all this? I’m all in the dark! 50 Dr.
Warrender’s gone, and the Quiet Gentleman
too. It must have been Dr. Warrender who
helped to steal Marlow’s body. The descrip-
tion tallies exactly—tall, fair beard and bald.
I wonder if t’other chap was the Quiet Gentle-
man? And what on earth could they want
with the body? Any way, the body’s gone,
and, as it’s a millionaire corpse, I’ll have some
of its money or I’m a Dutchman !’
He stopped and placed his hand to his head.
‘ Bournemouth, Bournemouth !’ he muttered.
‘Ah, that’s it—the Soudan Hotel, Bourne-
mouth !’
It was now the middle of the afternoon, and,
as he plodded on, the moor glowed like a
furnace. No vestige of shade was there
beneath which to rest, not even a tree or a
bush. Then, a short distance up the road, he
espied a hut. It seemed to be in ruins. It
was a shepherd’s hut, no doubt. The grass
roof was tom, the door was broken, though


THE HUT ON THE HEATH 31
cloSed, and the mud walls were crumbling.
Impatient of any obstacle, he shoved his back
against it and burst it open. It had been
fastened with a piece of rope. He fell in,
headlong almost. But the gloom was grateful
to him, though for the moment he could see
but little.
When his eyes had become more accustomed
to the half-light, the ﬁrst Object upon which
they fell was a Stiff human form Stretched on
the mud ﬂoor—a body with a handkerchief over
the face. Yelling with terror, Cicero hurled
himself out again.
‘ Marlow’s body!’ he gasped. ‘ They’ve put
it here !’
With feverish haste he produced acorkscrew
knife, and opened his whisky bottle. A ﬁery
draught gave him courage. He ventured back
into the but and knelt down beside the body.
Over the heart gaped an ugly wound, and
the clothes were caked with blood. He gasped
again.
‘No ﬁt this, but murder! Stabbed to the
heart! And joe—what does joe know about
this—and my employer? Lord !’


32 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
He snatched the handkerchief from the face,
and fell back on his knees with another cry,
this time of wonderment rather than of terror.
He beheld the dead man’s fair beard and bald
head.
‘Dr. Warrender! And he was alive last
night! This is murder indeed!’
Then his nerves gave way utterly, and he
began to cry like a frightened child.
‘ Murder! Wilful and horrible murder !’ wept
the professor of elocution and eloquence.


CHAPTER III
AN ELEGANT EPISTLE
ON Bournemouth cliffs, where pine-trees cluster
to the edge, sat an elderly spinster, knitting a
homely stocking. She wore, in spite of the
heat, a handsome cashmere shawl, pinned across
her spare shoulders with a portrait brooch, and
that hideous variety of Early Victorian head-
gear known as the mushroom hat. From
under this streamed a frizzy crop of gray curls,
which framed a rosy, wrinkled face, brightened
by twinkling eyes. These, sparkling as those
of sweet seventeen, proved that their owner
was still young in heart. This quaint survival
of the last century knitted as assiduously as
was possible under the circumstances, for at
a discreet distance were two young people,
towards whom she acted the part of chaperon.
Doubtless such an ofﬁce is somewhat out-of-
3


34 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
date nowadays ; but Miss Victoria Parsh would
rather have died than have left a young girl
alone in the company of a young man.
Yet she knew well enough that this young
man was altogether above reproach, and,
moreover, engaged by parental consent to the
pretty girl to whom he was talking so earnestly.
And no one could deny that Sophy Marlow
was indeed charming. There was somewhat
of the Andalusian about her. Not very tall,
shaped delicately as a nymph, she well de-
served Alan Thorold’s name. He called her
the ‘Midnight Fairy,’ and, indeed, she looked
like a brunette Titania. Her complexion was
dark, and faintly ﬂushed with red; her mouth
and nose were exquisitely shaped, while her
eyes were wells of liquid light—- glorious
Spanish orbs. About her, too, was that
peculiar charm of personality which deﬁes de-
scription.
Alan, her lover, was not tall, but uncom-
monly well-built and muscular, as fair as Sophy
was dark—of that golden Saxon race which
came before the Dane. Not that he could be
called handsome. He was simply a clean, clear-


AN ELEGANT EPISTLE 35
skinned, well-groomed young Englishman,
such as can be seen everywhere. Of a strong
character, he exercised great control over his
somewhat frivolous betrothed.
Miss Vicky, as the little spinster was usually
called, cast romantic glances at the dark head
and the fair one so close to one another. As
a rule she would have been shocked at such
a sight, but she knew how keenly Sophy
grieved for the death of her father, and was
only too willing that the girl should be com-
forted. And Miss Vicky occasionally touched
the brooch, which contained the portrait of a red-
coated ofﬁcer. She also had lived in Arcady,
but her Lieutenant had been shot in the Indian
Mutiny, and Miss Vicky had left Arcady after
a short sojourn, for a longer one in the work-a-
day world. At once, she had lost her lover
and her small income, and, like many another
lonely woman, had had to turn to and work.
But the memory of that short romance kept
her heart young, hence h'er sympathy with this
young couple.
‘Poor dear father!’ sighed Sophy, looking
at the sea below, dotted with white sails. ‘I
3—2


36 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
can hardly believe he is gone. Only two
weeks ago and he was so well, and now—oh!
I was so fond of him! We were so happy
together! He was cold to everyone else, but
kindly to me! How could he have died so
suddenly, Alan ?’
‘Well, of course, dear, a ﬁt is always sudden.
But try and bear up, Sophy dear. Don’t give
way like this. Be comforted.’
She looked up wistfully to the blue sky.
‘ At all events, he is at peace now,’ she said,
her lip quivering. ‘ I know he was often very
unhappy, poor father! He used to sit for
hours frowning and perplexed, as if there was
something terrible on his mind.’
Alan’s face was turned away now, and his
brow was wrinkled. He seemed absorbed in
thought, as though striving to elucidate some
problem suggested by her words.
Wrapped up in her own sorrow, the girl did
not notice his momentary preoccupation, but
continued :
‘ He never said good-bye to me. Dr. War-
render said he was insensible for so long before
death that it was useless my seeing him. He
v.1


AN ELEGANT EPISTLE 37
kept me out of the room, so I only saw him—-
afterwards. I’ll never forgive the doctor for it.
It was cruel !’
She sobbed hysterically.
‘Sophy,’ said Alan suddenly, ‘had your
father any enemies ?’
She looked round at him in astonish-
ment.
‘1 don’t know. I don’t think so. Why
should he? He was the kindest man in the
world.’
‘I am sure he was,’ replied the young man
warmly; ‘but even the kindest may have
enemies.’
‘ He might have made enemies in Africa,’
she said gravely. ‘It was there he made his
money, and I suppose there are pgople mean
enough to hate a man who is successful,
especially if his success results in a fortune of
some two millions. Father used to say he
despised most people. That was why he lived
so quietly at the Moat House.’
‘It was particularly quiet till you came,
Sophy.’
‘I’m sure it was,’ she replied, with the


38 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
glimmer of a smile. ‘Still, although lze had
not me, you had your profession.’
‘Ah! my poor profession! I always regret
having given it up.’
‘ Why did you?’
‘You know, Sophy. I have told you a
dozen times. I wanted to be a surgeon, but
my father always objected to a Thorold being
of service to his fellow-creatures. I could
never understand why. The estate was not
entailed, and by my father’s will I was to lose
it, or give up all hope of becoming a doctor.
For my mother’s sake I surrendered. But I
would choose to be a struggling surgeon in
London any day, if it were not for you, Sophy
dear.’
‘ Horrid!’ ejaculated Miss Marlow, elevating
her nose. ‘How can you enjoy cutting up
people ? But don’t let us talk of these things;
they remind me of poor dear father.’
‘My dear, you really should not be so
morbid. Death is only natural. It is not as
though you had been with him all your life,
instead of merely three years.’
‘ I know; but I loved him none the less for


AN ELEGANT EPISTLE 39
that. I often wonder why he was away so
long.’
‘He was making his fortune. He could not
have taken you into the rough life he was lead-
ing in Africa. You were quite happy in your
convent’
‘ Quite,’ she agreed, with conviction. ‘ I was
sorry to leave it. The dear sisters were like
mothers to me. I never knew my own
mother. She died in jamaica, father said,
when I was only ten years old. He could not
bear to remain in the West Indies after she
died, so he brought me to England. While I
was in the convent I saw him only now and
again until I had ﬁnished my education. Then
he took the Moat House—that was ﬁve years
ago, and two years after that I came to live
with him. That is all our history, Alan. But
joe Brill might know if he had any enemies.’
‘ Yes, he might. He lived thirty years with
your father, didn’t be? But he can keep his
own counsel—no one better.’
‘You are good at it, too, Alan. Where
were you last night? You did not come to
see me.’


4.0 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
He moved uneasily. He had his own
reasons for not wishing to give a direct
answer.
‘I went for a long walk—to—to—to think
out one or two things. When I got back it
was too late to see you.’
‘What troubled you, Alan? You have
looked very worried lately. I am sure you
are in some trouble. Tell me, dear; I must
share all your troubles.’
‘ My dearest, I am in no trouble ’—-he kissed
her hand—‘ but I am your trustee, you know,
and it is no sinecure to have the management
of two millions.’
‘It’s too much money,’ she said. ‘Let
us dispose of some of it, then you need
not be worried. Can I do what I like
with it ?’
‘Most of it—there are certain legacies. I
will tell you about them later.’
‘I am afraid the estate will be troublesome
to us, Alan. It’s strange we should have so
much money when we don’t care about it. N ow,
there is Dr. Warrender, working his life out
for that silly extravagant wife of his !’

“J


AN ELEGANT EPISTLE 41
‘ He is very much in love with her, never-
theless.’
‘I suppose that’s why he works so hard.
But she’s a horrid woman, and cares not a snap
of her ﬁngers for him—not to speak of love!
Love.l why, she doesn’t know the meaning of
the word. We do!’ And bending over, Sophy
kissed him.
Then promptly there came from Miss Parsh
the reminder that it was time for tea.
‘Very well, Vicky, I dare say Alan would
like you to' give him a cup,’ replied Sophy.
‘Frivolous as ever, Sophia! I give up all
hope of forming your character—now !’
‘ Alan is doing that,’ replied the girl.
In spite of her sorrow, Sophy became fairly
cheerful on the way back to the hotel. Not
so Alan. He was silent and thoughtful,
and evidently meditating about the responsi-
bilities of the Marlow estate. As they walked
along the parade with their chaperon close
behind, they came upon a crowd surround~
ing a fat man dressed in dingy black. He
was reciting a poem, and his voice boomed
out like a great organ. As they passed,


42 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
Alan noticed that he darted a swift glance
at them, and eyed Miss Marlow in a parti-
cularly curious manner. The recitation was
just ﬁnished, and the hat was being sent
round. Sophy, always kind-hearted, dropped
in a shilling. The man chuckled.
‘Thank you, lady,’ said he; ‘the ﬁrst of
many, I hope.’
Alan frowned, and drew his ﬁancée away.
He took little heed of the remark at the time;
but it occurred to him later, when circum-
stances had arisen which laid more stress on its
meaning.
Miss Vicky presided over the tea—a gentle
feminine employment in which she excelled.
She did most of the talking; for Sophy was
silent, and Alan inclined to monosyllables.
The good lady announced that she was anxious
to return to Heathton.
‘The house weighs on my mind,’ said she,
lifting her cup with the little ﬁnger curved.
‘The servants are not to be trusted. I fear
Mrs. Crammer is addicted to ardent spirits.
Thomas and jane pay too much attention to
one another. I feel a conviction that, during


AN ELEGANT EPISTLE 43
my absence, the bonds of authority will have
loosened.’
‘ Joe,’ said Alan, setting down his cup ; ‘ Joe
is a great disciplinarian.’
‘ On board a ship, no doubt,’ assented Miss
Vicky; ‘but a rough sailor cannot possibly
know how to control a household. joseph is
a ﬁne, manly fellow, but boisterous—very
boisterous. It needs my eye to make domestic
matters go smoothly. When will you be ready
to return, Sophy, my dear?’
‘In a week—but Alan has suggested that
we should go abroad.’
‘ What ! and leave the servants to wilful
waste and extravagance? My love !’—Miss
Vicky raised her two mittened hands—‘think
of the bills !’
‘ There is plenty of money, Vicky.’
‘No need there should be plenty of waste.
No; if we go abroad, we must either shut up
the house or let it.’
‘ To the Quiet Gentleman ?’ said Sophy, with
a laugh.
Alan looked up suddenly.
‘ N 0, not to him. He is a mysterious


44. THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
person,’ said Miss Vicky. ‘I do not like
such people, though I dare say it is only vil-
lage gossip which credits him with a strange
story.’
‘Just so,’ put in Alan. ‘ Don’t trouble about
him.’
Miss Vicky was still discussing the possi-
bility of a trip abroad, when the waiter entered
with a note for Sophy.
‘It was delivered three hours ago,’ said the
man apologetically, ‘and I quite forgot to
bring it up. So many visitors, miss,’ he added,
with a sickly smile.
Sophy took the letter. The envelope was
a thick creamy one, and the writing of the
address elegant in the extreme.
‘ Who delivered it?’ she asked.
‘ A fat man, miss, with a red face, and dressed
in black.’
Alan’s expression grew somewhat anxious.
‘ Surely that describes the man we saw
reciting ?'
‘So it does.’ Sophy eyed the letter du-
biously. ‘ Had he a loud voice, Sim-
monds ?’


AN ELEGANT EPISTLE 4.5
‘As big as a bell, miss, and he spoke beau-
tiful ; but he wasn’t gentry, for all that,’ ﬁnished
Simmonds with conviction.
‘ You can go,’ said Alan. Then he turned to
Sophy, who was opening the envelope. ‘ Let
me read that letter ﬁrst,’ he said.
‘Why, Alan? There is no need. It is
only a begging letter. Come and read it with
me.’
He gave way, and looked over her shoulder
at the elaborate writing.
‘ MISS ’ (it began),
‘The undersigned, if handsomely re-
munerated, can give valuable information re-
garding the removal of the body of the late
Richard Marlow from its dwelling in Heathton
Churchyard. Verbum daz‘ sapientz'f Forward
£100 to the undersigned at Dixon’s Rents,
Lambeth, and the information will be forth-
coming. If the minions of the law are invoked,
the undersigned will vanish, and his information
lost.
‘ Faithfully yours, Miss Sophia Marlow,
‘CICERo GRAMP.’


4.6 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
As she comprehended the meaning of this
extraordinary letter, Sophy became paler and
paler. The intelligence that her father’s body
had been stolen was too much for her, and she
fainted.
Thorold called loudly to Miss Vicky.
‘ Look after her,’ he said, stufﬁng the letter
into his pocket. ‘ I shall be back soon.’
‘ But what—what ’ began Miss Vicky.
She spoke to thin air. Alan was running at
top speed along the parade in search of the fat

man.
But all search was vain. Cicero, the astute,
had vanished.


CHAPTER IV
ANOTHER SURPRISE
HEATHTON was only an hour’s run by rail from
Bournemouth, so that it was easy enough to
get back on the same evening. On his return
from his futile search for Cicero, Alan deter-
mined to go at once to the Moat House. He
found Sophy recovered from her faint, and on
hearing of his decision, she insisted upon accom-
panying him. She had told Miss Vicky the
contents of the mysterious letter, and that lady
agreed that they should leave as soon as their
boxes could be packed.
‘ Don’t talk to me, Alan!’ cried Sophy, when
her lover objected to this sudden move. ‘It
would drive me mad to stay here doing nothing,
with that on my mind.’
‘ But, my dear girl, it may not be true.’


4.8 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘If it is not, why should that man have
written P Did you see him ?’
‘ No. He has left the parade, and no one
seems to know anything about him. It is
quite likely that when he saw us returning to
the hotel he cleared out. By this time I dare
say he is on his way to London.’
‘ Did you see the police ?’ she asked
anxiously.
‘No,’ said Alan, taking out the letter which
had caused all this trouble, ‘it would not be
wise. Remember what he says here: If the
police are called in he will vanish, and we
shall lose the information he seems willing to
supply.’
‘I don’t think that, Mr. Thorold,’ said Miss
Vicky. ‘This man evidently wants money,
and is willing to tell the truth for the matter of
a hundred pounds.’
‘ On account,’ remarked Thorold grimly ; ‘ as
plain a case of blackmail as I ever heard of.
Well, I suppose it is best to wait until we can com-
municate with this—what does he call himself?
—Cicero Gramp, at Dixon’s Rents, Lambeth.
He can be arrested there, if necessary. What


ANOTHER SURPRISE 49
I want to do now is to ﬁnd out if his story
is true. To do this I must go at once to
Heathton, see the Rector, and get the cofﬁn
opened.’
‘I will come,’ insisted Sophy. ‘Oh, it is
terrible to think that poor father was not
allowed to rest quietly even in his grave.’
‘ Of course, it may not be true,’ urged Alan
again. ‘ I don’t see how this tramp could have
got to know of it.’
‘ Perhaps he helped to violate the secrets of
the tomb?’ suggested Miss Vicky.
‘In that case he would hardly put himself
within reach of the law,’ Alan said, after a
pause. ‘ Besides, if the vault had been broken
into we should have heard of it from Joe.’
‘Why should it be broken into, Alan P The
key ’
‘I have one key, and the Rector has the
other. My key is in my desk at the Abbey
Farm, and no doubt Phelps has his safe
enough.’
‘ Your key may have been stolen.’
‘ It might have been,’ admitted Alan. ‘ That
is one reason why I am so anxious to get back

4


50 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
to-night. We must ﬁnd out also if the cofﬁn
is empty.’
‘Yes, yes; let us go at once !’ Sophy cried
feverishly. ‘I shall never rest until I learn
the truth. Come, Vicky, let us pack. When
can we leave, Alan ?’
Thorold glanced at his watch.
‘In half an hour,’ he said. ‘ We can catch
the half-past six train. Can you be ready ?’
‘ Yes, yes !’ cried she, and rushed out of the
room.
Miss Vicky was about to follow, but Alan
detained her.
‘ Give her a sedative or something,’ he said,
‘ or she will be ill.’ I
‘I will, at once. Have a carriage at the
door in a quarter of an hour, Mr. Thorold.
We can be ready by then. I suppose it is best
she should go ?’
‘ Much better than to leave her here. We
must set her mind at rest. At this rate she
will work herself into a fever.’
‘ But if this story should really be true?’
‘I don’t believe it for a moment,’ replied
Alan. But he was evidently uneasy, and could


52 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
anguish. ‘I feel as though I should never
sleep again !’
When they had driven away, Alan himself
took the nearest way to the Rectory. It was
some way from the station, but Alan was a
vigorous walker, and soon covered the distance.
He arrived at the door with a beating heart
and dry lips, feeling, he knew not why, that he
was about to hear bad news. The gray-haired
butler ushered him into his master’s presence,
and immediately the young man felt that
his fears were conﬁrmed. Phelps looked
worried.
He was a plump little man, neat in his dress,
and cheerful in manner. He was a bachelor,
and somewhat of a cynic. Alan had known
him all his life, and could have found no better
adviser in the dilemma in which he now found
himself. Phelps came forward with outstretched
hands.
‘ My dear boy, I am indeed glad! What
good fairy sent you here? A glass of port?
You look pale. I am delighted to see you.
If you had not come I should have had to
send for you.’


ANOTHER SURPRISE 53
‘What do you wish to see me about, sir?’
asked Alan.
‘About the disappearance of these two
people.’
‘What two people?’ asked the young man,
suddenly alert. ‘ You forget that I have been
away from Heathton for the last three days.’
‘Of course, of course. Well, one is Brown,
the stranger who stayed with Mrs. Marry.’
‘The Quiet Gentleman ?’
‘Yes. I heard them call him so in the
village. A very doubtful character. He never
came to church,’ said the Rector sadly. ‘ How-
ever, it seems he has disappeared. Two nights
ago—in fact, upon the evening of the day upon
which poor Marlow’s funeral took place, he left
his lodgings for a walk. Since then,’ added
the Rector impressively, ‘he has not returned.’
‘ In plain words, he has taken French leave,’
said Thorold, ﬁlling his glass.
‘Oh,I should not say that, Alan. He paid
his weekly account the day before he. vanished.
He left his baggage behind him. No, I don’t
think he intended to run away. Mrs. Marry
says he was a good lodger, although she knew


54 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
very little about him. However, he has gone,
and his box remains. No one saw him after
he left the village about eight o’clock. He was
last seen by Giles Hale passing the church in
the direction of the moor. To-day we searched
the moor, but could ﬁnd no trace of him.
Most mysterious,’ ﬁnished the Rector, and took
some port.
‘Who is the other man?’ asked Alan
abruptly.
‘Ah! Now you must be prepared for a
shock, Alan. Dr. Warrender!’
Thorold bounded out of his seat.
‘ Is he lost, too ?’
‘Strangely enough, he is,’ answered Phelps
gravely. ‘ On the night of the funeral he went
out at nine o’clock in the evening to see a
patient. He never came back.’
‘Who was the patient?’
‘That is the strangest part of it. Brown,
the Quiet Gentleman, was the patient. Mrs.
Warrender, who, as you may guess, is quite
distracted, says that her husband told her so.
Mrs. Marry declares that the doctor called
after nine, and found Brown was absent.’


ANOTHER SURPRISE 5 5
‘What happened then?’ demanded Alan,
who had been listening eagerly to this tale.
‘Dr. Warrender, according to Mrs. Marry,
asked in what direction her lodger had gone.
She could not tell him, so, saying he would call
again in an hour or so, he went. And, of
course, he never returned.’
‘Did Brown send for him ?’
‘ Mrs. Marry could not say. Certainly no
message was sent through her.’
‘Was Brown ill?’
‘ Not at all, according to his landlady. We
have been searching for both Brown and
Warrender, but have found no traces of either.’
‘Humph!’ said Thorold, after a pause. ‘I
wonder if they met and went away together ?’
‘My dear lad! Where would they go to?’
objected the Rector.
‘I don’t know; I can’t say. The whole
business is most mysterious.’ Alan stopped,
and looked sharply at Mr. Phelps. ‘Have
you the key of the Marlow vault in your pos-
session ?’
‘Yes, of course, locked in my safe. Your
question is most extraordinary.’


56 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
The other smiled grimly.
‘ My explanation is more extraordinary still.’
He took out Mr. Gramp’s letter and handed it
to the Rector. ‘What do you think of that,
sir?’
‘Most elegant caligraphy,’ said the good
man. ‘Why, bless me!’ He read on hur-
riedly, and ﬁnally dropped the letter with a
bewildered air. ‘Bless me, Alan!’ he stam-
mered. ‘What—what—what ’
Thorold picked it up and smoothed it out on
the table.
‘ You see, this man says the body has been
stolen. Do you know if the door of the vault
has been broken open ?’
‘No, no, certainly not!’ cried the Rector,
rising fussily. ‘ Come to my study, Alan ; we
must see if it is all right. It must be,’ he
added emphatically. ‘The key of the safe is
on my watch-chain. No one can open it. Oh
dear ! Bless me!’
He bustled out of the room, followed by
Alan.
A search into the interior of the safe resulted
in the production of the key.


ANOTHER SURPRISE 57
‘You see,’ cried Phelps, waving it triumph-
antly, ‘it is safe. The door could not have
been opened with this. Now your key.’
‘ My key is in my desk at the Abbey Farm
—locked up also,’ said the young man hastily.
‘ I’ll see about it to-night. In the meantime,
sir, bring that key with you, and we will go into
the vault.’
‘ What for?’ demanded the Rector sharply.
‘ Why should we go there?’
‘ Can’t you understand ?' said Alan im-
patiently. ‘I want to ﬁnd out if this letter is
true or false—if the body of Mr. Marlow has
been removed.’
‘But I—I—can’t!’ gasped the Rector. ‘I
must apply to the Bishop for ’
‘ Nonsense, sir! We are not going to exhume
the body. It’s not like digging up a grave.
All that is necessary is to look at the cofﬁn
resting in its niche. We can tell from the
screws and general appearance if it has been
tampered with.’
The clergyman sat down and wiped his bald
head.
‘ I don’t like it,’ he said. ‘I don’t like it at


58 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
all. Still, I don’t suppose a look at the cofﬁn
can harm anyone. We’ll go, Alan, we’ll go;
but I must take jarks.’
‘ The sexton ?’
‘ Yes. I want a witness—two witnesses ;
you are one, jarks the other. It is a gruesome
task that we have before us.’ He shuddered
again. ‘I don’t like it. Profanation !’
‘ If this letter is to be believed, the profana-
tion has already been committed.’
‘ Cicero Gramp,’ repeated Mr. Phelps as they
went out. ‘Who is he ?’
‘ A fat man—a tramp—a reciter. I saw him
at Bournemouth. He delivered that letter at
the hotel himself; the waiter described him,
and as the creature is a perfect Falstaff, I
recalled his face—I had seen him on the parade.
I went at once to see if I could ﬁnd him, but he
was gone.’
‘A fat man,’ said the Rector. ‘ Humph!
He was at the Good Samaritan the other
night. I’ll tell you about him later.’
The two trudged along in silence and knocked
up jarks, the sexton, on the way. They had
no difﬁculty in rousing him. He came down at


ANOTHER SURPRISE 59
once with a lantern, and was much surprised to
learn the errand of Rector and Squire.
‘Want to have a look at Muster Marlow’s
vault,’ said he in creaking tones. ‘Well, it
ain’t a bad night for a visit, I do say. But
quiet comp’ny, Muster Phelps and Muster
Thorold, very quiet. What do ye want to see
Muster Marlow for ?’
‘ We want to see if his body is in the vault,’
said Alan.
'Why, for sure it’s there, sir. Muster
Marlow don’t go visiting.’
‘ I had a letter at Bournemouth, jarks, to say
the body had been stolen.’
Jarks stared.
‘ It ain’t true!’ he cried in a voice cracked
with passion. ‘ It’s casting mud on my ’arning
my bread. I’ve bin sexton here ﬁfty year,
man and boy--I never had no corp as was
stolen. They all lies comfortable arter my
tucking them in. Only Gabriel’s trump will
wake ’em.’
By this time they were round the Lady
Chapel, and within Sight of the tomb. Phelps,
too much agitated to speak, beckoned to jarks


60 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
to hold up the lantern, which he did, grumbling
and muttering the while.
‘ I’ve buried hundreds of corps,’ he growled,
‘and not one of ’em’s goed away. What ’ud
they go for ? I make ’em comfortable, I do.’
‘ Hold the light steady, jarks,’ said the
Rector, whose own hand was just as unsteady.
He could hardly get the key into the lock.
At last the door was open, and headed by
Jarks, with the lantern, they entered. The
cold, earthy smell, the charnel-house feeling
shook the nerves of both men. jarks, accus-
tomed as he was to the presence of the dead,
hobbled along without showing any emotion
other than wrath, and triumphantly swung the
lantern towards a niche wherein reposed a cofﬁn.
‘ Ain’t he there, quite comfortable?’ wheezed
he. ‘Don’t I tell you they never goes from
here! It’s a lovely vault; no corp ’ud need a
ﬁner.’
‘Wait a bit!’ said Alan, stepping forward.
‘ Turn the light along the top of the cofﬁn, jarks.
Hullo ! the lid’s loose !’
‘ An’ unscrewed!’ gasped the sexton. ‘He’s
bin getting out.’


ANOTHER SURPRISE 6 1
‘ Unscrewed—loose !’ gasped the Rector in
his turn. The poor man felt deadly sick.
‘ There must be some mistake.’
‘ No mistake,’ said Alan, slipping back the
lid. ‘ The body has been stolen.’
‘ No ’t’ain’t !’ cried Jarks, showering the
light on the interior of the cofﬁn. ‘There he
is quiet an’—why,’ the old man broke off with a
cry, ‘ the corp ain’t in his winding-sheet !’
Phelps looked, Alan looked. The light shone
on the face of the dead.
Phelps groaned.
‘ Merciful God!’ he groaned, ‘it is Dr. War-
render’s body !’


A NINE DAYS’ WONDER 63
her most acidulated voice. ‘ I know who took
the body.’
‘ That you don’t !’ contradicted jarks inco—
herently ; ‘ fur passon, he don’t know, so I
don’t know as how you’d know, Mrs. Timber.’
‘ It was that fat play-actor out of this very
house,’ snapped the landlady.
‘ And how can you prove that, Mrs. Timber ?’
asked the sexton contemptuously.
‘ Why, he had no money for a bed, and he
had to sleep in the open. I dare say he Slept
in the churchyard, and stole the body to sell it
back again, it being well known as Miss Sophy’s
a Queen of Sheba for riches.’
‘All very well,’ said Slack the schoolmaster;
‘ but if he took away Mr. Marlow’s body, how .
did he put Dr. Warrender’s in its place ? And
how could he without the key of the vault?’
‘No,’ said the stonemason, ‘he couldn’t get
into that there vault without a key. I built
him myself, me and my mates. If that fat man
put the doctor there, he must have killed him.
Th’ere’s a hole in his heart as you could put your
ﬁst in. It’s murder!’ cried the man, dashing
his hand on the table, ‘ sacrilege and murder!’


64 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
It took a good many tankards of Mrs.
Timber’s strong ale to wash down the sinister
word ‘murder.’ Every point of the matter
was discussed, but no one could arrive at any
decision. Slack voiced the general sentiment
when he rose to go.
‘We must wait for the police,’ said Slack.
But Alan Thorold was of the contrary
opinion. He did not wish to wait for the
police, or to have anything to do with the
police. The difﬁculty was that he could not
get the Rector to take this view, and the next
morning Mr. Phelps sent the village constable
for the inspector at Burchester, the big market
town twenty miles away across the heath.
Meantime, at an early hour, Alan presented
himself at the Moat House. He broke the
news as gently as he could. Both Sophy and
Miss Vicky were horriﬁed.
‘To think of such things taking place in a
Christian graveyard!’ cried the little woman,
wringing her hands. ‘Sacrilege and murder!
It makes one believe in the existence of atheists
and anarchists, and such-like dreadful people—
it does, indeed !’


A NINE DAYS’ WONDER 65'
Contrary to Thorold’s expectation, Sophy
proved to be the more composed of the two.
She neither wept nor fainted, but, very pale and
very still, listened to all that he had to say.
When he had ﬁnished, she had only one question
to ask. _
‘Who did it ?’ she demanded in the calmest
voice. ‘
‘ I can’t say—I don’t know,’ stammered Alan,
taken aback by her attitude generally. ‘We
must ﬁnd out. If your father had enemies—
but even an enemy would have had no object
in doing this.’
‘ What about the man in Bournemouth ?’
‘Cicero Gramp? I intend to go up to
London to-morrow and see him. If he can
tell the truth, it will be well worth the money
he demands.’
‘ So I think, Alan. Can’t you go to-day ?’
He shook his head.
‘ There is so much to do here, Sophy. The
Rector has gone to break the news of her
husband’s death to Mrs. Warrender. And he
has sent over to Burchester for the police.
The inspector—Blair is his name—will be
5


66 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
here at noon. I did not want the police
brought into the matter, but Mr. Phelps in-
sisted.’
‘Why did you not want to consult the police ?'
‘ I am afraid if this vagabond gets wind that
the law has intervened he may give us the slip.
However, I shall go up to Dixon’s Rents ﬁrst
thing in the morning, before the case gets into
the papers.’
‘ Do you think this man Gramp has anything
to do with the murder, and with the removing
of poor father’s body ?'
‘ No, I don't,’ replied Alan promptly. ‘ He
would not dare to give evidence if he were. I
hear that he was turned out of the Good
Samaritan on the night of the funeral. It is
likely enough that he saw the removal of the
body, and possibly the murder. Naturally,
such a creature as that wants to sell his in-
formation. He is a blackmailer, this man,
but I don’t credit him with murder or body-
snatching.’
‘Body-snatching!’ cried Miss Vicky, who
was dabbing her red eyes with eau-de-Cologne.
‘Oh the terrible word I’


A NINE DAYS’ WONDER 67
‘Alan,’ said Sophy, after a pause, ‘do you
believe the man who took my father’s body
killed Dr. Warrender ?’
‘I do. Warrender was out on that night,
and might have come across the man carrying
away the body, and the murder might have
arisen out of that.’
‘ How do you know Dr. Warrender was out ?’
cross-examined Sophy.
‘ Mrs. Warrender told the Rector so. War-
render went to see the Quiet Gentleman, but
not ﬁnding him in, said that he would return.
He never did, and now we know the reason.’
‘Why don’t you make certain whether he
saw the Quiet Gentleman ?’
‘Brown? That’s impossible; he also has
disappeared.’
‘Who was he ?’
.‘I don’t know,’ said Alan gloomily.
‘ Does anyone know ?’
‘ Not to my knowledge. Perhaps the police
may ﬁnd out. Sophy, what is the matter?’
For the girl was clapping her hands and
laughing hysterically.
‘It was Brown who took my father’s body
5—2


68 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
and killed the doctor!’ she cried. ‘ I am certain
of it!’
‘ Why are you certain ?’
‘ I feel it. I can’t say why.’
‘But your father did not know this man.
I never heard him allude to the Quiet Gentle-
man.’
‘ I dare say not,’ returned Sophy doggedly ;
‘but if the man had nothing to do with it, why
should he disappear? And Dr. Warrender went
to see him. Oh! I am sure he is the guilty
person. He might be an enemy of father’s.’
‘ Sophia, your father did not know him,’ put
in Miss Vicky, who was listening open-mouthed
to all this.
‘Oh, I am not so sure of that!’ cried the
girl impatiently. ‘If he did, joe will know.
Ring the bell for him.’
‘ Did joe know the Quiet Gentleman ?’ Alan
asked when he had rung.
‘I do not think that joseph did,’ said Miss
Vicky. ‘ He told me that he tried several
times to speak to him, but got no reply.’
‘I don’t wonder at that,’ replied the young
man dryly ; ‘ the man was dumb.’


A NINE DAYS’ WONDER 69
‘ Dumb!’ echoed the ladies.
‘ Didn’t you know? Ah, well, perhaps not.
I didn’t know myself until the Rector told me
last night. Yes, he was dumb—that was why
the village called him the Quiet Gentleman.
Oh, here is Joe!’
‘ joe,’ said Sophy, going directly to the point,
‘ have you heard about ’
‘Yes, miss,’ said Joe, interrupting to save
her mentioning so painful a subject, ‘I know,
and if I ﬁnd the swab as did it, I’ll kill him.’
Joe said this in a quietly savage way, which
made Miss Vicky shudder.
‘ Have you any idea who carried off the body,
joe ?’
‘No, sir, I have not—but,’ added the man
grimly, ‘ I’m going to look for him.’
The old maid shuddered again at the expres-
sion in his bloodshot eyes.
‘ “ Vengeance is mine. I will repay, saith
the Lord,” ’ she put in severely.
‘ All werry good,’ said Mr. Brill, ‘ but I guess
the Lord needs an instrument to carry out that
text.’ He spat on his hands and added slowly,
‘ I’m that instrument !’


70 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘ Had my father any enemies that you know
of, joe ?’
‘No, miss, not that I know’d of. He had
rows, as a man should, had the Cap’n, but I
don't know any swab as ’ud have stolen his
corpse.’
‘And murdered Dr. Warrender,’ said Alan,
who was watching the man.
‘As you say, sir,’ replied the sailor calmly,
‘and murdered Dr. Warrender. No, I can’t
rightly call anyone to mind.’
‘ Did you know the Quiet Gentleman, joe ?’
‘ I did not, miss. Brown he called hisself—
leastways, Mrs. Marry told me so, for Brown
had no tongue. I tried to pass the time 0’ day,
meeting him friendly like on the road, but he
only put his hand to his mouth and shook his
white head. I don’t know nothing about him.’
‘ Do you know a tramp named Cicero
Gramp ?’ asked Alan, after a pause.
‘ Well, I did in a way.’ joe drew his huge
hand across his mouth, and seemed to be
considering his reply. ‘ In this way, sir. He
comed here to the kitchen and put ’em all
wrong with his lies. I kicked him out—least-


A NINE DAYS’ WONDER 71
ways, I giv ’im something to take ’imself
orf.’
‘What did he come here for?’
joe clenched his teeth and frowned dread-
fully.
‘I wish I knowed, I’d ha’ broken his cocoa-
nut!’ said be. ‘He was a liar, miss, savin’
your presence. Said ’e knowed your father,
the Cap’n, which,’ said joe slowly, ‘was a
d d lie—beggin’ your pardon, miss.’
‘ Said he knew my father?’ echoed Sophy
anxiously. ‘ What did he know about him ?’
‘Nothin’,’ replied joe ﬁrmly. ‘Make your
mind easy, miss—nothin’.’
It seemed to Alan as though the old sailor
wished to intimate that there really was some-
thing in Marlow’s past which might be known,
but that the tramp was ignorant of it. He
evidently wanted to reassure the girl, yet Alan
was well aware that Sophy knew practically
nothing of her father’s life. He resolved to
try the effect Of a surprise.
‘joe,’ said he slowly, ‘it was this tramp who
told me the body had been stolen.’
joe’s hard, shiny hat, which he had been


72 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
twisting nervously in his hands, fell to the
ground. His face was a dark crimson when
he stooped to pick it up, and he stammered :
‘Hi, sir! that—that lubber. How did he
know ?’
‘That I have to ﬁnd out. He offers to sell
the information for a hundred pounds.’
joe rubbed his hands and looked ferocious.
‘What I want to know, sir, is, where is the
swab ?’
‘In London. I’m going up to see him
to-morrow.’
‘This afternoon,’ put in Sophy sharply.
‘ You are going this afternoon, Alan.’
‘Certainly, my dear,’ Alan said promptly; ‘ I’ll
go this afternoon—if the police don’t want me.’
‘ The police !’ gasped joe, shifting nervously
from one leg to the other.
‘Yes.’ Alan darted a keen glance at him.
‘ Mr. Phelps has sent for the police to investi-
gate this murder of Dr. Warrender.’
‘Well, I hope they’ll ﬁnd him, sir,’ said joe,
recovering his stolidity, ‘for I make no doubt
that the swab as killed the doctor carried off
the Cap’n’s body.’


A NINE DAYS' WONDER 73
‘ So I think, Joe, and I am going to London
to ﬁnd out from Cicero Gramp.’
‘ You’ll ﬁnd he’ll tell you that the Quiet
Gentleman killed Dr. Warrender,’ put in
Sophy.
The old sailor choked, and looked at her
with absolute terror.
‘ How do you know that, miss?’ he asked.
‘ I only think so. The Quiet Gentleman
has disappeared. Probably he killed the
doctor, and then took my father’s body.’
‘ It might be so, miss. If I ﬁnd him ’
Joe repeated his former savage declaration,
and Miss Vicky duly shuddered.
‘ Then you can’t help us in any way, Joe ?’
said Alan, eyeing him thoughtfully.
‘ No, sir, I can’t. I don’t know who carried
off the Cap’n, and I don’t know who stabbed
the doctor. IfI did, I’d kill him. When you
ﬁnd him, sir, let me know.’
After which speech the old sailor again
pulled his forelock, scraped his foot, and rolled
out of the room. He appeared somewhat
relieved to get away.
Alan did not quite know what to make of


74 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
Joe. The man was so nervous that it seemed
as though he knew something and was afraid
of committing himself. On the other hand,
this sailor was devoted to Sophy, and had been
in Marlow’s service for thirty years. It was
only reasonable to conclude, therefore, that he
would wish her to beneﬁt by any knowledge
he might possess. On the whole, Alan was
perplexed, but he kept it to himself, determin-
ing, nevertheless, to keep an eye on Ice.
When the door was closed, Sophy turned to
Alan.
‘Alan,’ she said slowly, ‘I love you dearly,
as you know, and I wish to become your wife.
But I swear by the memory of my father that
until you ﬁnd out who has done this wicked
thing and bring the man to justice, I will not
marry you !’
‘ Sophy !’ cried Thorold entreatingly.
‘ I mean what I say,’ repeated the girl, in a
low, ﬁerce voice. ‘ We must avenge my father.
When the wretch is caught and hanged, then
I’ll marry you, Alan.’
‘Sophia, a marriage under such circum-
stances


A NINE DAYS’ WONDER 75
‘Miss Parsh,’ cried Sophy, turning on the
meek Old maid, ‘do you think I can sit down
tamely under this insult to the dead? My
father’s body has been carried off. It must be
found again before I marry—before I can think
of marriage, Alan.’
‘ Sophy is right,’ cried Thorold, drawing the
girl to him and kissing her. ‘She is right,
Miss Parsh. I swear also that I will devote
my life to solving this mystery. Your father’s
body shall be brought back, Sophy, and the
murderer of Dr. Warrender shall hang. Good-
bye, dear. To-dayl go to London. The ﬁrst
step towards the discovery of this crime will be
to see Cicero Gramp. He may supply the
clue.’
‘Yes, yes. Bribe him; pay him anything,
so long as you get at the truth.’
Alan kissed the girl again, and then left the
room. Before he started, he intended to see
the Rector and the local inspector of police.
As he stepped out on to the road, he noticed
Phelps coming along in the hot sunshine. The
little parson was pufﬁng and blowing and wiping
his forehead.


76 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘Alan! Alan !’ he called out in short gasps
as he came within speaking distance. ‘She’s
gone! She’s gone to ’
‘She! Gone! Who’s gone? Where?’
‘Why, Mrs. Warrender! She’s disappeared.
Oh, dear me; how terrible all this is! Whew !’


CHAPTER VI
THE MISSING KEV
So excited was the little parson that Alan
feared lest he should take a ﬁt. The Good
Samaritan was no great distance away, so
thither he led him, into Mrs. T imber’s private
parlour.
‘Now, sir,’ said Alan, when his old tutor
seemed somewhat more composed, ‘ tell me all
about Mrs. Warrender.’
But before Mr. Phelps could reply, the
vixenish landlady made her appearance. She
was highly honoured at seeing the Rector
within her doors, and curtsied a hint for orders.
And, in truth, the little clergyman, undone with
excitement, was quite ready to stimulate his
jaded nerves.
‘Eh, Mrs. Timber?’ he said. ‘Yes; you
might get us a little Cognac, I think. Old;


78 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
the best you have, Mrs. Timber, and a jug
of fresh-drawn water from the well, please.
Alan ?’
‘ I’ll join you,’ said young Thorold promptly.
He, too, felt that he was in nowise beyond
reach of a little stimulant.
Silent for once in her life, Mrs. Timber
brought of her best, which, be it said, was
passing good. Mr. Phelps lost no time in
brewing his measure and drank it down with
gusto.
‘That’s good, Alan, my boy; very good,’
said he, setting down the tumbler with a sigh
of relief. ‘God forgive me, I fear to think
what my good brethren would say did they
see their Rector in a public-house! though to
be sure the Good Samaritan is a most re
spectable hostelry. But, Alan, why did you
bring me here ?’
‘Indeed, sir, I feared you would be ill out
there in the blazing sun. I did only what I
thought wise. But about Mrs. VVarrender—
you say she has disappeared?’
‘ Eh, yes.’ Mr. Phelps wiped his bald head
vigorously. ‘I went to break the news to


80 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘ Yes; she had a quantity of jewellery. She
put all the money she could get from her
husband into clothes and diamonds—a most
extravagant woman, Alan. Well, she’s gone,
that’s certain, jewels and all. She left no
address, and said no word about returning.
What do you think of it ?’
‘Upon my word, sir, I don’t know what
to think! The whole place has gone mad, it
seems to me; the entire village is topsy-turvy.
Marlow’s body stolen, \Narrender murdered,
and his body placed in poor Marlow’s cofﬁn;
and now here is Mrs. Warrender cleared out
signiﬁcantly with her jewels; and the Quiet
Gentleman ’
‘ Brown, the dumb man? What about him?
I know he, too, has vanished ; but what else?’
‘I’m going to tell you, sir. The key of the
vault ’
‘ Not your key, Alan ?’
‘Yes, my key, Mr. Phelps; the Quiet
Gentleman has it !’
‘God bless me—that is, God forgive me,
Alan, are you mad, too?’
‘ No, sir, not yet; though I admit I’m fairly


THE MISSING KEY 81
on the way, with all this. Tell me, do you know
who this so-called Quiet Gentleman really is ?’
‘No, Alan, I don't. I spoke to him, but
found he was dumb. Now he too is gone.’
‘Yes, with Marlow’s body on his hands, and
’ Warrender’s death on his soul l’
‘You don’t mean that! Are you sure ?’
Mr. Phelps was greatly agitated.
‘I go only by circumstantial evidence, it is
true. You know, of course, the funeral of Mr.
Marlow took place in the morning ?’
‘ Yes, yes; and at two o’clock you took
Sophy and Miss Parsh to B0urnemouth.’
‘I did. Well, about ﬁve o’clock, Brown——
we’ll call him that instead of the Quiet Gentle-
man, though _I don’t believe it really is his
name—well, about that time Brown walked
over to Abbey Farm. He brought a letter
purporting to come from me to my house-
keeper, Mrs. Hester.’
‘ From you, Alan 9’
‘Yes, the letter was forged,’ said Alan with
emphasis. ‘It directed Mrs. Hester to allow
Brown to remain at the farm until I returned.
It was in my handwriting, and signed with my
6


82 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
name. She knew nothing about Brown, save
that he was staying at Mrs. Marry’s, and she
thought it somewhat strange he should come
to stop at the farm during my absence. But
as the instructions in the letter were quite
plain, and she knew my handwriting well—that
shows how expert the forgery was—she gave
Brown the run of the place. In the meantime
she wrote to me at Bournemouth asking me if
all was right, and enclosed the forged letter.
Here it is !’
As he saw the handwriting, Mr. Phelps
started.
‘ Upon my word, Alan, I don’t wonder
Mrs. Hester was deceived, especially when
you consider her sight is not good! Why, I
myself with my eyes should certainly take it
for yours.’ (Mr. Phelps wore pince-nez, but
nevertheless resented any aspersion on his
optical powers.) ‘But why on earth didn’t
she telegraph to you ?’
‘ Well, you know how old-fashioned and con-
servative she is, sir. She makes out through
the Scriptures—how, I cannot tell you—that
the telegraph is a sinful institution. Therefore


THE MISSING KEY 83
it is not to be wondered at that she trusted to
the post. I got her letter only this morning,
as, of course, it followed me on from Bourne-
mouth. Nevertheless, I knew about the loss
of the key last night.’
‘Ah! the loss of the key. Yes, go on, Alan.’
‘ Very well. Brown, being allowed to remain
in my house, proceeded to make himself quite
at home in the library. Mrs. Hester, writing
her letter—no easy task for her—took no
further heed of him. He was in the room for
quite an hour, and amused himself, it appears,
in breaking open my desk. Having forced
several of the drawers, he found at last the one
he wanted—the one containing the key of the
vault. Then he made all things beautifully
smooth, so that Mrs. Hester should not see
they had been tampered with, and leaving a
message that he would return to dinner, went
out ostensibly for a walk. He returned, it
appears, to his lodging, and left there again
about nine o’clock in the evening. Since then
nothing has been seen or heard of him.’
‘God bless me, Alan! are you sure he has
the key ?’
6—2


THE MISSING KEY 85
have removed the body alone. He must have
had an accomplice.’
‘True; and it is for that very reason I am
going to town this afternoon. Cicero Gramp
may be able to supply some information on
that point. It is quite possible he slept in the
churchyard and saw the whole business—murder
and all.’
‘Alan! Alan!’ cried Mr. Phelps, horriﬁed.
‘Do you believe this murder was committed
on the sacred soil of the churchyard, in God’s
own acre, Alan ? No one, surely, could be so
vile !’
‘I do, sir; and at the door of the vault.
Brown, as you say yourself, cleverly concealed
the body in Marlow’s cofﬁn. He had no time
to screw it down again, apparently. He must
have had a pretty tough job to cut through
that lead. He had to trust to chance, of course,
that the vault would not be visited until he had
got a safe distance away with his booty. And,
indeed, but for Gramp’s letter, no one would
ever have thought of going there. In fact,
this Brown is a most ingenious and dangerous
criminal.’


86 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘He is; indeed he is. But what could he
possibly want the body for ?’
‘Hal that’s just it! I fancy this is a case
of blackmail. If you remember, a millionaire’s
body was stolen in America some few years
ago, and only restored to the family on pay-
ment by them of a very large sum of money.’
‘ Oh, that is what you think he is after ?'
‘Yes, I do. It is highly probable, I think,
that in a few weeks, or perhaps even in less
time, we shall receive a letter demanding some
thousands for the return of the body.’
‘ But surely the police ’
‘ Oh, Mr. Brown will look after all that.
You may depend upon it he’ll make himself
quite safe before he goes that far. So talented
a gentleman as he, would not be likely to omit
all necessary precautions of that kind.’
‘ Humph !’ muttered Mr. Phelps, considering,
‘ and of Mrs. Warrender’s suspicious flight, what
think you ?’
‘I confess I don’t know quite what to make
of that. I have no great opinion of her as a
woman; still, I should hardly credit her with
being in league with this rufﬁan.’


THE . KEY 89
‘No, indeed, for that, She 1 “Ads that she
worst of women,’ said Mr. Phelps wu- “t marry
‘ Why, Alan, poor Warrender was simpt‘ "Io.
about her. He worked day and night to prov.
her with the ﬁnery she craved for. Besides,
she seemed really fond of him.’
‘ Who was she?’ asked Alan bluntly.
‘Well, I Shouldn’t like to say it to every-
one, Alan, but Mrs. Warrender had been an
actress.’
‘ An actress! Under what name ?’
‘That I cannot tell you. I called there one
day and I heard her reciting Shakespeare.
Her elocution seemed to me so ﬁne that I
complimented her upon it. Then she told me
that she had been on the stage, and had retired
when she married Warrender.’
‘ That’s very strange! I always thought she
had somewhat of a professional manner about
her.’
‘And her hair, Alan! Flaw coma—yellow
hair ; not that I mean, for one moment, she was
what the Romans referred to by these words.
Well, my boy, what is to be done now?’
‘ I am going up to London in an hour’s time.’


_Ji~JAlRE MYSTERY

’
..ced at his watch while speaking.
you’ll miss seeing Blair, the inspector,’
.onstrated Mr. Phelps.
‘ I’ll see him when I return : you can ex-
plain the case as well as l, sir. I shall bring
Gramp back with me if I can manage it.’
‘And Mrs. Warrender—shall I tell Blair
about her?’
‘ I fear you must. But let him be circumspect.
It is not necessary to take any steps against
her until we are tolerably sure of the reason for
her sudden ﬂight. When do they hold the
inquest on Warrender ?’
‘ To-morrow.’
‘ Well, I’ll be back to-night and tell you what
I’ve done.’ And Alan rose to go.
‘One moment, my dear boy. What about
Sophy ?’
‘ I’ve seen her, and, of course, I was judicious
in what I told her. She knows nothing about
the loss of the key and my suspicions of Brown,
although, funnily enough, she herself suspects
him.’
‘ Bless me ! on what grounds can she do
that ?’


THE MISSING KEY 89
‘Oh, on the purely feminine grounds that she
suspects him. She declares she will not marry
me until her father’s body is discovered.’
‘ Very right; very proper. I quite agree
with her. You should start your married life
with an absolutely clean sheet, Alan.’
The young man nodded, and as he left the
inn he delivered himself of one warning.
‘Whatever you do, keep your eye on joe
Brill,’ he said signiﬁcantly.
‘Why—why ? What for ?’
‘ Because I fancy he knows a good deal more
than he is inclined to tell,’ replied Alan.
Then, without further comment, he drove off,
leaving the Rector considerably bewildered at
this abrupt interpolation of a fresh name into
the persons of the drama.
Meanwhile, Alan caught his train, and in
due time, or a very fair approach to it, arrived
in London. He took a hasty lunch at Waterloo,
and drove to Westminster Bridge. Here he
dismissed his cab, and set about inquiring for
Dixon’s Rents. The slum—its name was
highly suggestive of its being such—appeared
to be well known. The ﬁrst constable he


90 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
asked was both familiar with and communi-
cative about it.
‘ It’s within easy distance of Lambeth Palace,
sir,’ he said. ‘ A bit rough by night, but you’ll
be all right there in the daytime. Ask any
constable near by the Palace, sir, and he’ll put
you right. Thank you, sir.’
Alan left the ofﬁcer of the law well pleased
with his unlooked-for half-crown, and walked
on towards the Palace. The second constable
could not leave his beat, but the bestowal of
another half-crown elicited from him the
practical suggestion that a certain young shoe-
black of repute should act as guide. The
shoeblack was quite near at hand, and very
shortly was enrolled as guide for the occasion.
Together he and Alan started off, leaving the
constable well content, though withal a triﬂe
mystiﬁed, not to say curious.
The shoeblack led the way, and Alan
followed closely. They turned away from the
river into a mass of houses, where the streets
became more and more squalid, and the popula-
tion more and more ragged and unkempt. At
length, after many twistings and turnings, they


THE MISSING KEY 91
arrived at the entrance to a narrow cul-de-sac,
and he was informed that this was his destina-
tion. He rewarded and dismissed the shoe-
black, and proceeded down the dirty lane.
Almost the ﬁrst person he saw was a tall
woman standing at the entrance of the court,
closely veiled. She seemed to be hesitating
whether she would come on or not. Then,
suddenly, she threw up her veil. As she did
so, Alan uttered an exclamation of surprise.
It was Mrs. Warrender!


CHAPTER VII
IN DIXON’S RENTS
AT the sound of Alan’s voice Mrs. Warrender
started like a guilty thing. He was astonished
beyond measure at ﬁnding her in the same un-
savoury neighbourhood as himself, bound, for
all he knew, on the same errand. At all
events, it was surely more than a coincidence
that she should be on the threshold of Gramp’s
dwelling, so to speak.
‘ Mrs. Warrender,’ he said, gravely lifting
his hat, ‘this is indeed a surprise. Of course,
you know what has happened at Heath-
ton ?’
‘I know all,’ answered the woman, in a rich,
low voice. ‘ jarks, the sexton, told my servant
this morning what has happened to poor julian,
and that his body has been found in the Marlow
vault.’


IN DIXON’S RENTS 93
‘Are you sure you did not know of it last
night?’ asked Alan quietly.
‘ Mr. Thorold !’
The colour rushed to her face.
‘ I mean that the letter which disturbed you
so much, might have hinted at the murder.’
‘ A letter ? How do you know I got a letter
last night ?’
‘ The Rector called to break the news to you
this morning, and your servant told him that
you already knew it ; also that you had left for
London—with your jewels, Mrs. Warrender,’
added Alan signiﬁcantly.
‘And you followed me!’ cried the woman
savagely. ‘ DO you intend to accuse me of my
husband’s murder ?’
‘I certainly do not; and I did not follow
you. I am here on the same errand as your-
self.’
’ She looked terriﬁed.
‘ How do you know what my errand is ?’
‘Because I can put two and two together,
Mrs. Warrender. I also received a letter—at
least, Miss Marlow did, and from the same
man—the man who lives here.’


96 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘ N 0, thank you; I must see him myself.’
‘Very well. I suppose you are not staying
in town ?’
‘ Yes, at the Norfolk Hotel. I shall remain
until to-morrow, so as to sell my jewels and
bribe this man.’
‘ There will be no need to sell your jewels,’
said Alan soothingly. ‘I will be responsible
for the blackmail. Have you the jewels with
you ?’
‘No, I dare not bring them. He might
have robbed me. They are in my bedroom at
the hotel.’
‘ Then go back at once and look after them.
I will bring this man there in, let us say, an
hour.’
‘Thank you, Mr. Thorold,’ she said. ‘I
accept your offer. I am really afraid to go
down that slum.’
He gazed after her ﬁne ﬁgure as she walked
hurriedly away. Somehow that haughty air
and resolute gait did not ﬁt in well with her
expression of fear. It was curious. He felt
there was something strange about Mrs. War-
render. However, she had been open enough


IN DIXON’S RENTS 97
with him, so he did not choose to think badly
of her.
The man he sought was not easy to ﬁnd.
Mr. Gramp had his own reasons for keeping
clear of the police. The whole alley was
known by the name of Dixon’s Rents, and
Thorold had no idea in which Of the houses to
ask for him. He questioned a stunted street
Arab with wolﬁsh eyes, emphasizing his request
with a Sixpence.
‘Oh, Cicero!’ yelped the lad, biting the
coin. ‘Yuss, he’s round about. Dunno!
Y’ain’t a ’tec ?’
‘ What’s that?’
‘A de-tec-tive,’ drawled the boy. ‘Cicero
ain’t wanted, is he?’
‘Not by me. Is Cicero generally—er—
wanted?’ inquired Alan delicately.
The urchin closed one eye rapidly, and
grinned with many teeth. But, instead of
replying, he took to shouting hoarsely for
‘ Mother Ginger.’ The surrounding population
popped out of their burrows like so many
rabbits, and for the next few minutes ‘Mother
Ginger’ was asked for vigorously. Alan
7


98 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
looked round at the ragged, blear-eyed slum-
dwellers, but could see nothing of the lady
in question. Suddenly his arm was twitched,
and he turned to ﬁnd a dwarf no higher
than his waist trying to attract his atten-
tion. Mother Ginger, for it was she, had a
huge head of red hair, fantastically decked with
ribbons of many colours. Her dress, too, was
rainbow-hued, like joseph’s coat. She had
carpet slippers on her huge feet, and white
woollen gloves on her large hands. Her face
was as large as a frying-pan and of a pallid
hue, with expressionless blue eyes and a
big mouth. Alan saw in her a female Quasi-
modo.
‘ Wot is it ?’ she inquired. Evidently Mother
Ginger was vain of her ﬁnery and of the at-
tention she attracted. ‘Is it Mr. Gramp you
want, m’dimber-cove ?’
‘Yes. Can you take me to him?’ asked
Thorold, wincing at the penny-whistle quality
of her voice. ‘ Is he at home ?’
‘ P’raps he is, p’raps he ain’t,’ retorted Mother
Ginger, with a fascinating leer. ‘Wot d’ye
want with him ?’


IN DIXON’S RENTS 99
‘ This will explain.’ And Alan put Cicero’s
letter into her hand. ‘ Give him that.’
She nodded, croaked like a bull-frog, and
vanished amongst the crowd. Mr. Thorold
found himself the centre of attraction and the
object of remark.
This somewhat unpleasant position was put
an end to by the appearance of Mother Ginger,
who clawed Alan, and drew him into a house
at the end of the court. The tatterdemalions
gave a yell of disappointment at the escape of
their prey, and their prey congratulated himself
that he had not made his visit at night. He
felt that he might have fared badly in this
modern Court of Miracles. However, it ap-
peared that he was safe under the protection
of Mother Ginger. With the activity of a
monkey, she conducted him up a dirty stair-
case and into a bare room furnished with a bed,
a chair, and a table. Here Alan was greeted
by a bulky creature in a gorgeous red dressing-
gown, old and greasy, but still pretentious.
He had no difﬁculty in recognising the man
whom he had seen reciting on the parade at
Bournemouth.
7—2


100 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘I welcome you, Mr. Thorold,’ said Cicero
in his best Turveydrop style. ‘ Mother Ginger,
depart.’
To get rid of the woman, Mr. Thorold placed
a shilling in her concave claw, upon which she
executed a kind of war-dance, and vanished
with a yelp of delight. Left alone with the
pompous vagabond, the young man took the
only chair, and faced his host, who was sitting
majestically on the bed, his red dressing-gown
wrapped round him in regal style.
‘50 you are Cicero Gramp ?’ began Alan.
‘ I have seen you ’
‘ At Bournemouth,’ interrupted the professor
of elocution and eloquence. ‘True, I was
there for the beneﬁt of my health.’
‘ And to blackmail Miss Marlow.’
‘ Blackmail—a painful word, Mr. Thorold.’
‘ How do you know my name?’
‘ It is part of my business to know all names,’
was the answer—‘ex m'ﬁz'lo m'lzz'l ﬁt, if you
understand the tongue of my namesake. IfI
did not know what I desire to know, myincome
would be small indeed. I visited the salubrious
village of Heathton, and learned there, that


IN DIXON’S RENTS IOI
Miss Marlow and Mr. Thorold, to whom she
was engaged, were recreating themselves at the
seaside with an inferior companion. Bourne-
mouth was the seaside, and I went there. On
seeing a young lady with a spinster and a
gentleman in attendance, I noted Miss Marlow,
Mr. Thorold, and Miss Parsh.’
‘ And made yourself scarce ?’
‘ I did,’ admitted Cicero frankly. ‘ I de-
parted as soon as you were out of Sight, know-
ing that my letter would be delivered, and that
you might call in the police.’
‘ Ah, a guilty conscience!’
‘ Far from it.’ Cicero ﬂung open his dress-
ing-gown, and struck his chest. ‘ Here purity
and innocence and peace are enthroned. I did
not wish to be taken by the minions of the law,
lest they should wrest from me for nothing
what I should prefer to sell for a few pounds.
Besides, I wished to see you in my own
house. A poor establishment,’ said Mr. Gramp,
looking round the meagre room, ‘but mine
own.’
He bowed gracefully, as if for applause.
‘Come, Mr. Gramp,’ said Alan diplomati-


102 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
cally, ‘let us get to business. What do you
know about this matter ?’
‘ About the hundred pounds?’ asked the man
with an appearance of great simplicity.
‘ I’ll pay you that, more or less, when I know
what your information is worth.’
‘More or less won’t do, Mr. Thorold. I
want, from Miss Marlow or from you, one
hundred pounds.’
‘I know, and two hundred from Mrs. \Nar-
render.’
‘ Ah l’-—Cicero did not move a muscle—‘ she
has told you that I can give you information
about the body of her husband ?’
‘ Yes, and she has come to town to see you.
However, I have intercepted her, and she is
waiting to see you in a place I know of. You
must come with me, Mr. Gramp.’
But Cicero shook his head uneasily.
‘An Englishman’s house is his castle,’ he
said. ‘ This is my house, my keep, my
donjon. Quad erat demonstrana’um /’
‘ Oh, confound your dictionary Latin !’ cried
Alan impatiently. ‘ You are afraid of the
police ?’


IN DIXON’S RENTS 103
‘ Far from it, Mr. Thorold. I have nothing
to fear from them. For one hundred pounds I
lay bare my heart.’
‘ I’ll give you ﬁfty pounds on condition you
tell me all you know. From Mrs. Warrender
you won’t receive a penny.’
‘ Then she shall never know where lies the
body of her late lamented partner.’
‘She knows that already,’ said Alan coolly.
‘ Ha!’——Cicero gave a dramatic start—‘ you
seek to deceive me !’
‘lndeed, I do nothing of the sort; I found
the body myself.’
‘ Where, may I ask?’ said Gramp, his
thoughts going back to the but on the heath.
‘In the Marlow vault, in the cofﬁn of the
dead man who was carried away.’
Cicero’s jaw fell. He was truly surprised.
‘ How the devil did it get there from the
hut ?’ he said.
‘ The hut—what hut ?’
‘I want my money before I tell you that,
Mr. Thorold.’
Alan took ﬁve ten-pound notes out of his
pocket.


104 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘ Here is ﬁfty pounds,’ he said; ‘it will be
yours if you tell me all you know, and come
with me to see Mrs. Warrender.’
‘ Aha !’ Cicero’s eyes glittered, and his
ﬁngers longed to clutch the money. Such
wealth had not been his for many a long day.
‘ And the police ?’
‘I thought you did not fear them,’ was the
reply.
‘I don't, for I have done nothing to put
myself in the power of the law. But I am
afraid, as this body has been found, that you
will have me arrested, and so I shall lose the
money.’
‘If you are innocent of the murder and the
sacrilege, you won’t be arrested, Gramp. And
the money I will give you after we have seen
Mrs. Warrender.’
‘ On your word of honour as a gentleman ?’
‘ Yes, on my word of honour. If you can
throw light on this mystery, and bring home
these crimes to the person who has committed
them, I am quite willing to pay you.’
‘I don’t know about bringing home the
crimes, Mr. Thorold,’ said Cicero, rising, ‘but


IN DIXON’S RENTS I 05
I will tell you all I know in the presence of
Mrs. Warrender. Permit me to assume my
visiting garb. Where is the lady ?’
‘ At the Norfolk Hotel.’
‘I know it. Many a glass which cheers
have I drained there. Dulre deszjﬁere z'n loco.
You don’t know Horace, perhaps ?’
‘ I suspect you don’t,’ said Alan, annoyed by
this hedge-Latin. ‘ Hurry up!’
‘ Fifty pounds, Mr. Thorold.’
‘After our interview with Mrs. Warrender,’
amended the other signiﬁcantly.
‘Command my services,’ said Cicero, and
rapidly put on his frock-coat, battered hat and
gloves.
After he had brushed his greasy broadcloth,
and dusted his large boots with the red bandana,
he announced that he was ready.
The oddly-assorted pair proceeded to the
Norfolk Hotel through the Lambeth slums.
Cicero seemed to be very well known and very
popular. He exchanged greetings with Shady
acquaintances, patted ragged children on the
head, and arrived at the hotel swelling with
pride. He felt that he had shown Alan he


106 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
was a man of consequence. Arrived at their
destination, they were shown by a slipshod
waiter into a shabby sitting-room on the ﬁrst
ﬂoor, where they found Mrs. Warrender. She
rose, and on seeing Cicero, gave a shriek of
surprise.
‘ Bill 1’ she cried with a gasp.
‘ Clara Maria!’ exclaimed the so-called Cicero,
‘ my beloved sister! What a surprise!’


CHAPTER VIII
AN IMPORTANT INTERVIEW
‘WELL, I never!’ gasped the widow, who,
womanlike, was the ﬁrst to ﬁnd her tongue.
‘15 it really you, Billy ?—-but I might have
guessed it, from your writing. Yet it never
entered my head!’ She stopped and grew
suddenly furious. ‘ My husband, you wretch !—
have you killed him?’
‘No, Clara Maria, no! I came here to give
information about his poor body. I did not
expect to ﬁnd my sister—the celebrated Miss
de Crespigny—in the person of Mrs. War-
render!’
‘What is all this about?’ demanded Alan
quietly. ‘Is this your brother, Mrs. War-
render?’
‘To my shame, sir, I confess this—this
creature ’—Mrs. Warrender brought out the


108 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
word with a hiss—‘ this degraded beast, is my
brother.’
‘Oh, Clara Maria, how can you
‘ Hold your tongue !’ interrupted the lady
angrily. ‘You were always a drunkard and a
scoundrel! Now you’ve come to blackmailing!
Two hundred pounds from me, you wretch!
Not one sixpence !’
‘ I have already,’ said her brother majestically,
‘arranged pecuniary matters with my friend
Mr. Thorold. But I wonder at you, Clara
Maria, I really do, considering how we parted.
Is this the greeting of ﬂesh and blood?’ cried
Mr. Gramp in a soaring voice, and standing on
tiptoe. ‘ Is this what human nature is made of?
The late Sir Isaac Newton was a prophet indeed
when he made that remark.’
‘ Mountebank !’ hissed Mrs. Warrender,
curling her handsome lip.
‘We were both mountebanks at one time,
Mr. Thorold,’ he said, turning to Alan, who, in
spite of his anxiety, was watching the scene
with unconcealed amusement. ‘ My sister was
the celebrated Miss de Crespigny; I, the once
noted actor, Vavasour Belgrave
I


AN IMPORTANT INTERVIEW 109
‘And his real name is Billy Spinks !’ put in
Mrs. Warrender scornfully.
‘William Spinks,’ corrected Mr. Gramp, as
it may be convenient to call him. ‘Billy is
merely an endearing term to which, alas! your
lips have long been strangers. But you needn’t
talk,’ said Cicero, becoming angry, and there-
with a triﬂe vulgar; ‘ your name is Clara Maria
Spinks!’
‘And a very good name, too,’ retorted the
lady. ‘ Cut the scene short, Billy.’
‘That is my advice also,’ put in Alan, who
was growing weary. ‘I do not want to know
any more about your relationship. That you
are brother and sister is nothing to me.’
‘I hope, Mr. Thorold, that you won’t reveal
my degraded connection in Heathton,’ cried
Mrs. Warrender, much agitated. ‘It would
ruin me. With great difﬁculty I attained a
position by marrying my poor dear julian, and
I don’t want to fall back into the mud where
this worm writhes.’ She darted a vicious glance
at Cicero.
‘Be content, Mrs. Warrender; your secret
is safe with me.’


110 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘ Denying her own ﬂesh and blood!’ moaned
Gramp, and sat down.
Speech and attitude were most effective, and
Mrs. Warrender, with a spark of her old
theatrical humour, played back.
‘Yes, I deny you,’ she cried, rising quickly
and stretching out a denunciatory hand. ‘You
were always a brute and a disgrace to me.
Look at that creature, Mr. Thorold! He is
my brother. Our parents were on the stage
—barnstormers they were—and played in the
provinces for bite and sup. They put us on
the stage, and when they died, left a little
money to Billy there. He was to bring me
up. How did he fulﬁl his trust? By making
me work for him. As an actor, even in the
meanest parts, he was a failure. I am not
much of an actress myself, although I was well
known as Miss de Crespigny, and billed all over
London. It was my ﬁgure and my looks that
did it. I appeared in burlesque ten or twelve
years ago, and I had wealth at my feet.’
‘I have heard of you,’ said Alan, recalling
his college days and certain photographs of the
most beautiful burlesque actress in London.


AN IMPORTANT INTERVIEW 111
He wondered he had not recognised her long
before. Mrs. Warrender, shaking with passion,
went on as though she had not heard him.
‘ Wealth was at my feet,’ went on the widow
—‘ wealth and dishonour. He,’ she cried, and
pointed the ﬁnger of scorn at the unabashed
Cicero, ‘ he lived on me! He would have me
stoop to dishonour for his sake! Then I lost
my voice. The creature treated me basely.
I left him ; I ran away to the States of America,
and appeared in ballets for my looks alone. In
New Orleans I met Julian Warrender—he was
old, but he was madly in love with me—and I
married him for a home. We came to England
ﬁve years ago, and settled at Heathton. I
always did my best to be a good wife, although
I dare say I was extravagant. Diamonds!
yes, I have diamonds, and I made Julian buy
me all he could. And why ?—to provide
against the days of poverty which I knew
would come. They have come—my husband
is dead. God help me 1’ Her voice rose to
a scream. ‘ Murdered!’ she cried.
‘ This,’ interpolated Gramp, addressing no
one in particular, ‘is very painful.’


112 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘You beast! Why do you come into my
life again ? I wanted to know about my poor
husband’s death, and I brought up my jewels
to bribe the man who called himself Cicero
Gramp into confessing who had murdered him.
I ﬁnd that my own brother is the blackmailer.
You would extort money from me, you wretch !
Never! never! never! Idisown you—I cast
you out! William Spinks, blackguard you
were! Cicero Gramp, scoundrel, thief, black-
mailer, and, for all I know, murderer, you are!
Away with you—away !’ and Mrs. Warrender,
very white in face and very exhausted in body,
sat down.
‘Very good,’ said her brother, rising; ‘ I go.’
‘Without your ﬁfty pounds?’ asked Alan,
sneering.
‘I forgot that,’ he said, smiling blandly.
‘Don’t give him a penny, Mr. Thorold!’
cried the woman with vehemence.
‘I promised him the money, and he shall
have it,’ replied Alan coldly. ‘I have heard
your story, Mrs. Warrender, and it is safe with
me. No one in Heathton shall know. Your
brother will not speak of it either.’


AN IMPORTANT INTERVIEW II 3
‘ How do you know that?’ asked Cicero, with
an evil look.
‘ Because you shall not have the ﬁfty pounds
until I have your promise to hold your tongue
about your relationship to Mrs. Warrender
while you are in Heathton.’
‘I am not going to Heathton,’ growled
Gramp like a sulky bear.
‘Yes, you are. You are coming to tell
your story to Inspector Blair. If you don’t,
not only will you lose your ﬁfty pounds, but I
will have you arrested as a suspicious char-
acter.’
‘You promised that the police should not
touch me.’
‘I promised nothing of the sort. Now, tell
me what you saw of these crimes—for there
are two: sacrilege and murder—and then come
to Heathton. Behave well, keep Mrs. War-
render’s secret, and you shall have ﬁfty pounds
and your freedom. Otherwise ’ Alan held
up his ﬁnger.
‘Oh, Mr. Thorold !’ cried the widow, wring-.
ing her hands, ‘if this horrible man comes to
Heathton, I am lost I’ ‘

8


114 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘Indeed no! He will hold his tongue.
Won’t you ?'
‘ You seem very sure of it,’ said the professor
of eloquence.
‘Of course I am. You see, Mr. Gramp, I
have the handling of the late Mr. Marlow's
money, and I can buy your silence.’
‘ Not for ﬁfty pounds.’
‘We shall see about that. It’s either ﬁfty
pounds or the police. Choose l’
Cicero folded his arms, and bowed his head.
‘I will take the money,’ he said, ‘ and I will
hold my tongue—while I am at Heathton
giving my evidence. Afterwards——’ he
looked at his sister.
‘Afterwards,’ said Alan smoothly, ‘we will
make other arrangements. Now tell your
story.’
‘And tell the truth !’ put in Mrs. Warrender
sharply.
‘Clara Marial’ Cicero was about to break
forth in furious speech, but be restrained him-
self. ‘Hoa’z'e mi/zz' eras tibil’ said Mr. Gramp,
with a strange look at Alan—‘ if you under-
stand Latin.’


AN IMPORTANT INTERVIEW 115
‘ I think I am able to follow you, my friend.
You mean “ To-day to me, to-morrow to thee,”
which would be all right if it was I who quoted
the saying. But this time it is not your day,
and as to your to-morrow, it may never come.’
‘ We shall see about that,’ said Cicero
savagely and pointedly.
Alan felt an unpleasant thrill run through
him, for the man’s look was evil beyond telling.
But he betrayed nothing of this, and signed to
Gramp to continue.
Quite understanding the position, Cicero
reverted to his grand theatrical manner. He
rose from his chair, rested one hand on the
back of it, and thrust the other into his breast.
As from a rostrum he delivered his speech, and
dwelt upon his own words with the gusto of a
modern Micawber.
‘Mr. Thorold and Clara Maria,’ he began
in deep tones, ‘a few days ago circumstances
connected with money turned me weary and
hungry from the seaport of Southampton. I
went—let us be plain—I went on the tramp,
and in the course of my peregrinations I drew
near Heathton, a salubrious village, notorious
8—2


116 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
at the present moment for the crimes which
have been committed there. I spun a coin,
my only sixpence, to decide if an intrusion into
that village would bring me good or evil
fortune. The coin said good, so to Heathton
I went. As I shall shortly pocket ﬁfty quid—
a vulgar term, but eloquent, Clara Maria, so
don’t frown—I dare not say that my only six-
pence told me a lie. That sixpence bought
me a meal in the Heathton public-house.
Where is that meal or sixpence now? Elzeu ./
Fail Ilium.’
‘Go on,’ said Alan curtly, for the orator
paused.
‘At the Good Samaritan I heard much
about Mr. Marlow and the funeral, and learned
a few facts which were of use to me after-
wards.’
‘ When you thrust yourself into the kitchen
at the Moat House, I presume?’
‘You are correct, Mr. Thorold. I did good
business there; and I learned, from the irre-
sponsible chatter of the domestics, a few other
facts which may also prove valuable.’
He looked directly at Alan as he said this.


AN IMPORTANT INTERVIEW II7
‘ Go on! go on!’ said Thorold again. But
he felt uneasy.
‘I was turned out of the Good Samaritan
by a hard-hearted landlady called—appro-
priately, I confess—Mrs. Timber. As the
night was ﬁne, I slept in the churchyard,
opposite the tomb of Mr. Marlow. Soon after
midnight I was awakened by voices. I looked
out, and saw two men, one tall, the other
short.’
‘ Who were they?’ Alan asked anxiously.
‘ One I knew later; the other one I am still
in doubt about, as I did not see his face.’
‘ But the names?’
‘You shall hear the names, Clara Maria,
when I am ready, not before. These men
went into the tomb, remained there for some
time, and came out with the body. They
lifted it over the low wall of the churchyard,
and went, I think, across the moor.’
‘ You followed?’ cried Alan breathlessly.
‘ No. I was afraid I might get into trouble,
so I ran in the opposite direction. I slept the
rest of the night in a hayrick far from the
churchyard. Next day I sought the Moat


118 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
House kitchen, and listened to the talk of the
servants. Then I went away with the idea of
seeing Miss Marlow at Bournemouth, as the
servants said she was there with Mr. Thorold.
On the moor I saw a hut. I went into it to eat
a frugal meal. In it I found ’-—Cicero paused
to give his words due effect—‘ a corpse.’
‘Whose corpse ?’
‘ That of the man who had assisted to steal
the body, Clara Maria. Your husband, Dr.
Warrender!’
‘You liar!’ shrieked the widow, making a
bound at him. ‘ Oh, you liar!’
Alan ﬂung himself between these affectionate
relatives, or it might have fared badly with
Cicero.
‘Hold hard, Mrs. Warrender!’ he said,
holding her back ; ‘let us listen.’
‘Listen to his lies! Do you hear that he
says my husband stole Mr. Marlow’s body ?’
‘So he did,’ said Cicero doggedly. ‘I’m
telling you what I shall tell to the police. The
tall man was Dr. Warrender. I saw his face
in the lantern-light. Who the short man was
I do not know.’


AN IMPORTANT INTERVIEW 119
‘ How did you recognise Dr. Warrender ?’
demanded Alan, when Mrs. Warrender had
sat down again.
‘I didn’t know him at the time; but I had
his description from the servants.’
‘ Tall, yellow beard, bald head?’ said Thorold
rapidly.
‘ Yes, that was the man who assisted to
remove the body, and that is the description of
the corpse I found in the hut.’
‘ My husband’s body was found in the vault,
you liar !’ cried the widow.
‘ Was it, Clara Maria? Well, all I can say
is I don’t know how it got there. I left it in
the hut myself.’
‘Why did you not give information to the
police ?’
‘ What! And get locked up on suspicion of
murder? No, thank you, Mr. Thorold. I ran
away from that corpse as I would have done
from the devil.’
‘ Whose child you are,’ said his sister bitterly.
‘ Don’t miscall your own father, Clara Maria.
Well, sir, I went on to Bournemouth, and
wrote two letters, one to Miss Marlow, and one


120 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
to my sister, although I did not know she was
my sister then. Had I known I had a relative
in Heathton,’said Cicero with pathos, ‘ I should
have asked for a bed.’
‘And your sister, Billy Spinks, would have
set the dogs on you.’
‘I am sure you would, Clara Maria. You
were always one for sentimental scenes.’
‘Tell me, Gramp, is this all you know of
these crimes?’ put in Alan. ,
‘All, Mr. Thorold. I think, sir, it is worth
ﬁfty pounds.’
‘ Humph! We’ll see what the police say.
You have no objection, I suppose, to come
with me to Heathton and repeat this story?’
‘Having a clear conscience,’ said Cicero,
with a superior smile, ‘I can safely say that I
have not. But the ﬁfty, Mr. Thorold ?’
‘ Will be paid after you have told Blair this
story.’
‘If you are so poor,’ put in Mrs. War-
render, ‘where did you get money to buy that
writing-paper? It was costly paper.'
‘ It was,’ admitted Mr. Gramp with pride—-
‘it was, Clara Maria. I always do things in


AN IMPORTANT INTERVIEW 121
style. If you remember, I got a prize at school
for letter-writing.’
‘Where did you get the money?’
‘From a nautical man called joe Brill—a
sovereign.’
‘A sovereign from joe Brill?’ cried Alan,
starting. ‘Why?’
‘Ah! you may ask,’ said Cicero. ‘In my
opinion it was hush-money.’
‘ Hush-money! What do you mean, man ?’
‘ Mean! I mean that I believe joe Brill
was the short man I saw that night. Yes,
Mr. Thorold, joe stole the corpse, and Joe
killed foully, with a knife, my respected brother-
in-law. H inc z'llw Zach/yum !’


CHAPTER IX
INVESTIGATION
WHILST Alan Thorold was dealing with Cicero
and his sister in London, Inspector Blair was
co-operating with the Rector in obtaining
evidence relating to the murder. The inspector
was a dry, dour, silent man, born in England,
but of Scotch descent. He was cautious to a
fault, and never expressed an opinion without
having well considered what he was going to
say. It was now a common sight in Heath-
ton for his long, lean ﬁgure and the Rector’s
short, plump one to be seen constantly to-
gether.
He was now in the Rectory dining-room with
a good glass of port beside him, and Mr.
Phelps, standing on the hearthrug, was sup-
plying him with all the details he had collected
in connection with the mystery. The case was


INVESTIGATION 123
getting so much more interesting than Blair,
the sad and silent, had expected that he was
becoming, for him, quite vivacious. He asked
the Rector one question after another.
‘ Mr. Thorold has gone to Dixon's Rents, sir?’
‘ Yes, Mr. Inspector ; I expect he’ll have
some news for us when he returns to-night.’
‘ He seems a clever young gentleman,’ Blair
said musingly. ‘I dare say he will bring this
man Gramp with him.’
‘ Do you think that Gramp can point out the
guilty person ?’
‘ That, sir, I am not prepared to say offhand.
If convenient, I should like to take a look
round.’
‘ Certainly. Where shall we go, Mr. In-
spector ?’ and Mr. Phelps rose briskly.
‘ To the vault, if you please, sir. Afterwards
we will call on Mrs. Marry.’
The Rector paused at the door.
‘I told you all Mrs. Marry had to say about
Brown.’
‘Quite so, sir. But I wish to have a look at
the rooms occupied by the man. Also, I think
it would be as well to examine his luggage.’


124 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘ Can you do that without a warrant ?’
‘ I’ll take the risk,’ said Blair coolly. ‘An
examination may not be quite legal under the
circumstances, but as Brown undoubtedly pro-
cured the key of the vault by that forged letter,
I am entitled to look upon him as a suspicious
character. Should he come back, sir—of which
I have my doubts—I can account for my
action.’
‘Humph! I think you are right. Come,
then, and look at the vault.’
To the vault they went, and found jarks
showing the outside of it to a crowd of morbid
sightseers. Indeed, the tragedy had drawn
people from far and near to Heathton, and the
usually quiet place buzzed like a hive. Mrs.
Timber was making her fortune, and blessed
the day she had turned Cicero the tramp out of
her house. To him alone did Mrs. Timber
ascribe the theft of the body. As to his con-
nection with the murder of Dr. W arrender, she
was not so certain.
‘ Come, come !’ cried Mr. Phelps, in his fussy
manner, on ﬁnding jarks haranguing the crowd.
‘This is most ridiculous—most out of place.


INVESTIGATION I 25
Jarks, I am astonished at your desecrating the
graveyard in this way.’
‘ No desecration, reverend sir,’ said Jarks, in
his rusty voice, ‘I wos only showing ’em
where I laid Muster Marlow by, comfortable.
GO ’
‘ GO away—go away, all of you!’
‘ Come on to the right!’ shouted jarks. ‘ I’ll
show ’ee where a soocide as they brought in
crazy is tucked away. A lovely grave with a
good View, an’ as nice a stone as I iver seed.
In my young days he’d have been buried in
cross-roads with a stake, but they do trate ’em
kindly nowadays. Ah yis. This way to the
soocide, neighbours !’ And Jarks headed the
crowd to the other side of the graveyard. The
keen, cold eye of Inspector Blair cleared them
out more quickly than jarks’ invitation.
‘ Dear me! most indiscreet of jarks !’ said the
Rector, opening the door of the vault. ‘ Come
in, Mr. Inspector. Here’s a candle. Tut, tut!
I’ve burnt my ﬁngers. Deuce take Hum
—God forgive me for bad language! This is
the niche, Mr. Inspector; yonder the cofﬁn—
a very handsome one. The lead is cut, you


126 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
perceive. Ah, poor soul! And we meant it to
last till the Great Day.’
While the Rector ran on in this fashion,
Blair the silent examined the empty cofﬁn.
He noted that the lead casing had been cut
with a sharp instrument, and very neatly done—
so neatly that the inspector became thoughtful.
‘ That wasn't done by a man in a hurry,’ lie
mused. But he said nothing, and merely
turned to Mr. Phelps with a question: ‘Who
screwed down the cofﬁn ?’
‘Who ?—bless me, let me think! Yes, yes.
Dr. Warrender—poor soul l—and joe Brill.
Faithful fellow, joe ! Would see the last of his
master.’
‘ Wasn’t the undertaker present?’
‘Crank? Well, yes, he was. But I am
sorry to say, Mr. Inspector ’—here the face of
the Rector became severe—‘ that on that day
Crank was intoxicated.’
‘ H'm ! Who made him drunk?’
‘ Himself, I suppose,’ rejoined Mr. Phelps, a
triﬂe tartly. ‘ Crank requires no one to tempt
him.’
‘Few men do, sir,’ said Blair, and again


INVESTIGATION 127
examined the cofﬁn. He passed his long, deli-
cate hand over every inch of it, particularly
ﬁngering the lid; then he looked round the
niche where it rested, peered into the others,
and considered well all that he saw, while Mr.
Phelps chattered. ‘ Quite so,’ said the detective
at length ; ‘let us go outside.’
He examined the graveyard as carefully as
he had done the vault. In the angle formed
by the Lady Chapel he found the long grass
crushed down, and part of it torn up to make a
pillow.
‘ Humph! a squatting-place,’ said Blair, who
had read a good deal about prehistoric man.
‘ A tramp has been sleeping here.’
‘A tramp!’ repeated the Rector. ‘Of course
that was Cicero Gramp, who wrote the letter.’
‘No doubt. I dare say he saw the whole
business.’ Blair continued his researches, and
came to a halt at the wall which divided
churchyard from pine-wood. He pointed to a
loose stone which had been knocked off. ‘ Did
you observe this before, sir?’
‘No,’ replied Mr. Phelps, raising his pince-
nez. ‘But that’s nothing. You see the wall


128 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
has been put together without mortar—simply
stones piled one on top of the other. A high
wind, now ’
‘I don’t think a high wind knocked this
stone off. You will notice, sir, that it has
fallen on the other side. Excuse me,’ and
Blair, active as a deer, leaped over the wall
and disappeared into the pine-belt. Phelps
rubbed his nose, not understanding these Red
Indian methods. In ten minutes the inspector
returned. ‘ I can’t ﬁnd the trail,’ said he, ‘ but
from the evidence of that wall, I suspect the
body was carried over it.’
‘Where to, Mr. Inspector?’
‘ Probably to a cart waiting on the highroad,
which runs across the moor. But, of course,
I’m in the dark as to that. Let me see the
keyhole of the vault-door.’ He went back and
had a good look at it. There were no scratches
to be seen. ‘Humph!’ said the inspector;
‘this was opened quietly enough, and by a
man who knew what he was about. There
was no hurry or fumbling in putting in the key.’
‘ Ah!’ said the Rector, looking wise. ‘ What-
key ? Not this one i”


INVESTIGATION I 29
‘ No, Mr. Phelps, I don’t suspect you. Prob-
ably the key was that stolen from Mr. Thorold’s
desk by the Quiet Gentleman.’
‘ You speak as though you were not quite
sure.’
‘ There might have been a third key,’ Blair
said cautiously.
‘If so, why should Brown have stolen
Thorold’s key ?’
‘That’s one of the things I have to ﬁnd out.
Let us call on Mrs. Marry.’
Mrs. Marry was a voluble, buxom woman,
with rosy cheeks, and a great amount of
curiosity as to matters which did not concern
her. But, clever as she was, it seemed that
she had nothing to tell about Mr. Brown.
With many curtsies and much talk she con-
ducted Rector and inspector into a gimcrack
parlour full of gaudy furniture, Berlin wool
mats, antimacassars, and wax ﬂowers.
‘When jeremiah died,’ explained the widow
with pride, ‘ I spent the nest-egg he left me on
that elegant set of chairs and sofa, also on the
curtains, table, and glass lustres, which are con-
sidered very ﬁne. It was my intent, gentle-
9


130 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
men, as a lone widder, to take in single
gentlemen, and they likes something to tickle
the eye.’
‘ A most inviting room, Mrs. Marry,’ said the
Rector, perching himself carefully on a fragile
chair, all varnish and design, but entirely
wanting in solidity; ‘ but Mr. Brown ’
‘Ah, sir, he's gone where we must all go ;’
and Mrs. Marry wiped away an imaginary tear.
But her remark called forth a question from
Blair, who had been making a close examina-
tion of the room:
‘ How do you know he is dead ?’
‘Bless the man! wouldn’t he be back if he
wasn’t ? I'm sure he was comfortable enough,
and my cooking is above blame, thank Heaven!
If anyone——’
‘ Mr. Brown went out at nine o’clock ?’ said
Blair, cutting her short.
‘ I won’t deceive you, Mr. Policeman, he did.
He stayed in most of the day, and went out in
the afternoon. At six he came back for his bit
and sup, and at nine he went out again to take
the air. He said so, at least, and I ain’t set
eyes on him since.’


INVESTIGATION I 31
‘ He said so ?' remarked Mr. Phelps.
‘On his ﬁngers, of course. He was dumb,
sir, but not deaf, and he conversed on his
ﬁngers wonderful. I can talk myself that way,’
said Mrs. Marry gravely, ‘having a niece as
is deaf and dumb in an asylum. I expect it
was my knowing the language as brought Mr.
Brown here to lodge.’
‘Where did he come from ?’
‘London town, he gave me to understand,
sir. But he didn’t talk much—on his ﬁngers——
about himself. He was very quiet, ate and
drank, read books ’
‘What kind of books ?’
‘Novels, sir—yellow novels, in a foreign
tongue. Here, sir, is the rosewood bookcase.
He also wrote a great deal, but what I don’t
know. I thought he had ideas of becoming a
writing person himself.’
Blair opened the bookcase, and one by one
examined a dozen or so of French novels
ranged on the lower shelf. They were all by
good authors, the usual paper-covered cheap
editions—nothing strange about them. No
name was written in any one of them. He

9—2


I 32 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
shut up the bookcase with a look of disappoint-
ment.
‘Was your lodger a Frenchman?’ he
asked.
‘Lor’, sir, I dunno! He talked English with
his ﬁngers. I’ve seen him reading the news-
papers.’
‘ He did not look like a foreigner,’ remarked
the Rector.
‘Ah! I quite forgot you knew the man, Mr.
Phelps. Can you describe his looks ?’
‘ He was not very tall, had long white hair
and a beard, ruddy cheeks, and dark eyes. He
was usually dressed in a gray suit, and walked
with a stout stick.’
‘ Gout in his feet,’ put in Mrs. Marry, not at
all pleased at being left out in the cold. ‘ He
wore cloth boots for his gout—walked very
badly, did Mr. Brown.’
‘ Strange !’ murmured Blair, again looking
round the room. ‘ How could an old man
helpless through gout in the feet carry off a
dead body? Humph l’
‘ He carried off no dead body !’ cried Mrs.
Marry, crimson with wrath, ‘if it’s Mr. Marlow’s


INVESTIGATION 133
corpse you’re talking of. I believe Mr. Brown’s
bin murdered like the doctor.’
‘Why do you believe so?’
‘ Because I’ve made up my mind to believe
it,’ said Mrs. Marry ﬁercely. ‘And I’d like to
see the man as would change my mind.’
‘So should I,’ remarked Blair. ‘Well. Mrs.
Marry, show me Mr. Brown’s room. I must
examine his luggage.’
‘ There’s only one box, and that’s locked.’
‘ I ’11 take the liberty of opening it.’
‘ But you can’t. I’m an honest woman.
What’ll Mr. Brown say when he comes back
and ﬁnds his things gone ? Besides, there’s a
I

triﬂe of rent, and
‘ Hold your tongue!’ said the inspector, with
a glance which quelled her. ‘ I will take nothing
away. You forget who I am, Mrs. Marry.
Show me the bedroom.’ And the landlady,
thinking better of it, obeyed without further
argument.
The box was there—a common, brown-
painted travelling-box. There was no name
on it, and it proved to be locked. The in-
spector asked for a chisel, and forced it open.


134 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
Within he found three suits of gray clothes,
some linen and socks, together with a pair of
cloth boots—nothing else. No name on the
shirts, no tailor’s tag on the clothes. Evidently
nothing of Mr. Brown’s identity was to be
learned from his belongings.
‘ The man from nowhere,’ said Phelps, gazing
blankly around him.
But Inspector Blair was not yet satisﬁed.
He searched both sitting-room and bedroom,
questioned Mrs. Marry, looked at some torn
pieces of paper in the ﬁreplace, and—found
nothing. Rector and inspector walked out of
the cottage as wise as when they had entered
it. So far their search had been a failure.
All that afternoon Blair hunted the village
for evidence. He heard how Warrender had
called at Mrs. Marry’s house, how he had left
there to follow the Quiet Gentleman, who had
been seen by the peasant going in the direction
of the moor. Blair recalled the loose stone
dropped from the churchyard wall, and his
own theory that the corpse had been taken to
a cart on the road. He sent out the police,
and had the heath searched, even to the hut


CHAPTER X
ANOTHER DISAPPEARANCE
IN the course of his investigations Mr. Blair
had examined the servants at the Moat House.
From the footman he heard of the West Indian
letter, and of the effect it had produced upon
Mr. Marlow. Search had been made for that
letter as likely to throw some light on the
mystery, but without success. Evidently Mr.
Marlow had thought it important enough to
destroy. His secret, whatever it might have
been, had gone to the grave with him. It was
a strange coincidence that the man Brown should
also have a correspondent in jamaica. He it
was who had stolen the key of the vault from
Alan’s desk. Again, Dr. Warrender—who, as
his wife told Alan, had been in jamaica—had
been murdered. Between these three men,
then—Marlow, Brown and Warrender—there


t 38 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
was evidently some connecting- link. Had
there not been, Warrender would not have
assisted to remove the body of the millionaire,
and Brown, by stealing the key, would not
have helped him.
‘There is no doubt in my mind that Brown
was the short man seen by Gramp,’ Blair said
to Alan. ‘ And he was followed from Mrs.
Marry’s by Dr. Warrender, who was bound
on the same errand.’
‘You mean the theft of the body ?’
‘ I think so. Brown had the key and Gramp
saw them remove the corpse.’
‘He saw Warrender,’ corrected Alan, ‘not
Brown.’
‘ I judge the other was Brown, from the theft
of the key and the fact that Warrender called
to see him, and then followed. Again, both
men have disappeared—at least, one has. The
other is dead.’
‘ And who murdered him ?’
‘ Brown,’ said the inspector, with conviction.
‘1 am sure of it.’
‘How can you be sure?’
‘ Because something unforeseen happened—


ANOTHER DISAPPEARANCE I 39
the murder, probably. In the ordinary course
of things, I take it, Brown would ,have come
back to fetch his luggage, and would have
gone away in a manner less likely to arouse
suspicion. Probably he and Warrender had a
quarrel when they put the corpse in the cart.
Brown killed the doctor, and then drove away.’
‘ But, Blair,’ argued Alan, ‘ you forget that
the doctor’s body was seen in the hut. Even
if Brown had dragged it there—which, I admit,
he might have done—I don’t see how he could
have brought it back again to the vault.’
‘I do, Mr. Thorold. It was Brown who
had the key. Most likely he put the dead
body in a place of safety, then came back the
following night, to hide it away in the safest
place he knew of—to wit, the vault. If you
recollect, no alarm as to the loss of Marlow’s
body was given, or was likely to be given.
Warrender’s dead body would not have been
searched for in the vault. It is, at least, highly
improbable that the vault would have been
opened.’
‘That is true,’ assented Alan. ‘But that
Cicero by chance saw the affair, I dare say we


I40 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
should have remained in ignorance of the
business for many a long day. No one would
have gone to the vault. A very clever man,
this Brown.’
‘ Very clever. But for the accident of Cicero
having slept in the churchyard, he would have
got off scot-free. As it is, I don’t see how we
can hunt him down. His gout, his dumbness,
his white hair and beard may have been assumed.
The fact of the linen left at Mrs. Marry’s being
unmarked is proof enough that he was dis-
guised.’
‘ Perhaps,’ said Alan doubtfully. ‘What I
can’t make out is, how he knew I had the key
of the vault in my desk.’
‘ Did you mention it to anyone ?’
‘ Only to Mr. Phelps.’
‘ Where ?’
‘In the churchyard after the funeral. We
were all round the vault and the service was
just over. Phelps locked the door with his
key and asked me where mine was. I said, “ In
my desk in the library.”’
‘ Was Brown present at the funeral ?’
‘ Yes, I think I caught a glimpse of him.’


ANOTHER DISAPPEARANCE 14.1
‘Was there a crowd round the vault door
when it was closed?’
‘There was; but I didn’t notice Brown on
that occasion.’
Blair nodded.
‘ Very probably. You were too much taken
up with the business in hand. Yet, I’ll swear
Brown was in the crowd, and heard you say
where the key was. The clever scoundrel
made use of the information that same after-
noon]
‘I believe you are right,’ said Alan, clench-
ing his ﬁst. ‘Oh, I do wish we could ﬁnd the
villain ! But what object could he have had in
stealing the body?’
‘ I can guess. Mr. Marlow was a millionaire.’
‘ Well, in a small way, yes.’
‘ In a way quite big enough to pay a hand-
some ransom, Mr. Thorold.’ The inspector
smiled. ‘ Depend upon it, we Shall hear from
this so-called Brown. He will ask a good few
thousands for the return of the corpse. Oh, it
is not the ﬁrst time this game has been played.’
‘Well, if Brown writes, we’ll have him
arrested for the murder.’


142 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘ Humph !’ said Blair, shaking his head, ‘ that
is easier said than done. He has been too clever
for us so far, he may prove too clever in the
matter of obtaining the reward of his wicked-
ness. Well, Mr. Thorold, the inquest takes
place to-morrow, but I haven’t got much
evidence for the jury.’
He was right. All his talk had been built up
upon theory, and on the slenderest of circum-
stantial evidence. The fact that Brown, the
mysterious, had stolen the key—and even that
was not absolutely proved—did not show that
he had stolen the body. Cicero could not
swear to his identity, and, even presuming that
he had committed the sacrilege, there was no
evidence that it was he who had murdered
Warrender.
And so the inquest on the body of the ill-
fated doctor was held, the theft of the million-
aire’s corpse being merely a side-issue. Can it
be wondered that the jury were puzzled ? All
that could be scraped together by Blair was
put before them. Cicero related his midnight
experience; Mrs. Warrender told how her
husband went out to see a patient; Mrs. Marry


ANOTHER DISAPPEARANCE 143
how the doctor called at her house, and after-
wards followed Brown. Finally, Alan and his
housekeeper gave evidence as to the loss of
the key, and the forged letter was produced.
Out of this sparse detail little could be made,
and after some deliberation, the jury brought
in the only verdict possible under the circum-
stances:
‘ The deceased has been murdered by some
person or persons unknown.’ _
‘ Most unsatisfactory,’ said Blair grimly;
‘ but there is no more to be said.’
‘What can you do now?’ asked Alan. ‘Shall
you give up the case ?’
‘That depends upon you, sir, or, rather,
upon Miss Marlow.’
‘ In what way?’
‘In the money way, Mr. Thorold. I’m a
poor man, and must attend to my duties. All
the same, if Miss Marlow will offer a reward, I
will do my utmost to ﬁnd out who stole her
father’s body, and who murdered the doctor.’
‘ Why couple the two crimes ?’
‘ Because, sir, in my opinion, Brown com-
mitted both. Give a reward, Mr. Thorold, and


144 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
I’ll do my best; otherwise, as I have other
urgent matters on hand, I must drop the
business. But I don’t deny,’ continued the
inspector, stroking his chin, ‘that if I were a
moneyed man I’d work at this business for the
sheer love of it. It is a kind of criminal
mystery which does not happen every day.’
‘The reward shall be offered,’ said Alan.
‘ Miss Marlow will be guided by me.’
Needless to say, Sophy was guided by him.
Indeed, so eager was she that the remains of
her father should be recovered that, had not
Alan suggested it, she would have offered a
reward herself. Also, she was anxious to
assist Mrs. Warrender, who, in spite of her
vulgarity and somewhat covetous disposition,
was really a well-meaning woman.
The result of this was that two rewards were
offered—one thousand for the detection of the
person who had stolen the body, and a like sum
for any information likely to lead to the arrest
of Warrender’s murderer. So here were two
thousand pounds going a-begging, and hundreds
of people hoped to have a chance of gaining
the money. The case was so strange and


ANOTHER DISAPPEARANCE I45
mysterious that it had attracted not a little
attention, and the fact that the missing body
was that of a millionaire added to the interest
excited by the fact of its disappearance. The
London papers were full of leaders and letters
suggesting solutions of the mystery. The
provincial press took up the cry, and through-
out the three kingdoms everyone was talking
of the case. It was even said that Miss Marlow,
the present possessor of all this wealth, would
marry the person who secured the thief and the
murderer.
‘I won’t marry you, Alan dear, until my
father’s body is back in the vault,’ said Sophy;
‘but at the same time, I won’t marry anyone
else.’
‘ But suppose I fail to ﬁnd the body, Sophy ?’
‘Then I must remain a spinster for the rest
of my life.’
‘ In that case you condemn me to be a crusty
old bachelor.’
‘Never mind. We can still be friends and
lovers.’
‘I’d rather we were man and wife,’ sighed
Alan.
Io


146 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
But he did not believe that she would cling
to this idea of perpetual spinsterhood for any
length of time. As for Miss Vicky, she thought
Sophy mad to have thought of such a thing,
and took her roundly to task.
‘A woman ought to marry,’ she said, break-
ing through the barriers of her ordinary prim-
ness. ‘ Do you think, if my darling had lived, I
should now be a wretched old maid? N0,
indeed! It would have been my delight to
have been an obedient and loving wife to
Edward.’
‘ I’m sure I wish he had lived !’ cried Sophy,
embracing her; ‘and I won’t have you call
yourself crabbed. You are the sweetest, dearest
woman in the world !’
‘ So poor Edward thought,’ sighed Miss Vicky,
ﬁngering the precious brooch which always
decorated some portion of her small person.
‘Alas the day! How often he told me so!
But he died for his country on the ﬁeld of
glory,’ she cried, with a thrill of pride; ‘ and in
spite of my lonely old age, I don’t grudge his
precious blood. Noble—noble Edward!’ and
she wept.


ANOTHER DISAPPEARANCE 147
‘ Don’t cry any more, Vicky.’
‘ It’s your obstinacy I’m crying at, Sophia.
If your poor dear pa’s remains are not found
within a certain time, marry Mr. Thorold and
be happy.’
‘I can’t—I won’t. How can I be happy
knowing poor father isn’t at rest ?’
‘His soul is at rest—the earthly tabernacle
is nothing. Come, Sophia, don’t break with
your life’s happiness !’
‘Alan and I understand one another, Vicky.
I dare say we shall marry some day. But the
body must be found.’
‘Lord grant it !’ ejaculated Miss Vicky piously,
and said no more. For she found that the
more she argued the more obstinate Sophy
grew.
Amongst those who had hopes of gaining the
reward was Cicero. He had come out of the
ordeal of a public examination unscathed, and
was now in the possession of his well-earned
ﬁfty pounds. Being anxious to remain in
Heathton for the purpose of prosecuting his
inquiries, he magnanimously forgave Mrs.
Timber, and took up his quarters at the Good
10—2


148 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
Samaritan. Now that he had money and paid
his bill regularly, the good lady considered it
politic to treat him with more civility, although,
after the manner of women, she felt constrained
to remind him, every now and again, of his
former poverty. But these remarks did not
affect Mr. Gramp in the least. He regarded
her no more than if she had been a ﬂy, and
sailed about the village in a suit of new broad-
cloth and the best of tall hats, airing his elo-
quence. He became an attraction at the inn,
and discoursed there every evening in ﬁne style.
Mrs. Warrender was much averse to his
staying on at Heathton. She lived in constant
dread lest the relationship between them should
be discovered. But Cicero never mentioned it
-nor did he ever mention her. Still, she felt
doubtful, and one evening, on the plea that she
wished to hear more of what he knew about
her husband’s murder, she sent for him. He
arrived to ﬁnd her in a low evening dress,
glittering with diamonds, and looking very
handsome—so handsome, indeed, that even he
could not refrain from giving vent to his ad-
miration.


ANOTHER DISAPPEARANCE 14.9
‘ Upon my word, you are a juno, Clara Maria!’
he said, when they were alone. ‘There is
money in you yet!’
‘I know what you mean, Billy,’ replied the
doctor’s widow coldly, ‘but I’m not going on
the stage again in burlesque or anything else.’
‘ How are you going to live ?’ he asked with
brutal candour.
‘ That’s my business,’ retorted Mrs. War-
render. ‘ I have enough to live on, even without
selling myjewels. Perhaps I shall marry again.’
‘ I’m sure you will, Clara Maria. You always
were a determined woman.’
‘ Hold your tongue, and tell me how much
longer do you intend to disgrace me here?’
‘How can I tell you, if I am to hold my
tongue?’ said Cicero coolly. ‘As to staying
here, I'm not disgracing you that I know of.
No one knows you are my ungrateful sister.’
‘ Billy, if I wasn’t a lady, I’d Ungrateful,
indeed, you brute! Go away at once !’
_ ‘ No, Clara Maria, not till I ﬁnd out who
killed my brother-in-law. I never knew him,’
said Cicero, wiping away a tear; ‘but as his
nearest relative, I must avenge him.’


150 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘ That won’t do, Billy,’ said his sister sourly ;
‘ you only want the reward.’
‘ Both rewards, Clara Maria. With two
thousand pounds I could be a gentleman for
the rest of my life.’
‘That you will never be.’
‘ I would do nothing——’
‘You never have, you lazy vagabond !’
‘ Don’t interrupt and insult me, Clara Maria,
but work with me.’
‘Work with you?’ gasped Mrs. Warrender.
‘At what?’
‘At this case, Clara Maria. I believe that
the secret of this mystery is to be found in the
island of jamaica—in the past life of Mr.
Marlow. Now, your husband knew the late
lamented millionaire in jamaica, and he might
have left some papers relative to the acquaint-
ance. If so, let me see them, and I’ll get on
the track of the assassin. We will share the
reward.’
‘ My husband did leave papers,’ Mrs. War-
render said thoughtfully, ‘ but I won’t show
them to you, Billy. You’d take all the money.
No, I’ll read his papers myself, and if I can ﬁnd


CHAPTER XI
THE STRANGER
THAT joe Brill had disappeared from Heathton
was perfectly true. So far Cicero was correct;
but in stating that the man had vanished with-
out a sign he was wrong. News—to be pre-
cise, gossip—travels more quickly in a village
than in a town; it also gets more quickly
distorted. For the intimacy of villagers is such
that they are readier than less acquainted folk
to take away from, or add to, any talk about
those whose everyday life they know so well.
joe Brill had left a letter for Sophy, who, in
much alarm, consulted Miss Parsh. The con-
sultation was overheard by the footman, who
told the servants, without mentioning the letter,
about which he was not very clear himself,
having caught only scraps of the conversation.
The kitchen discussed the news, and retailed


THE STRANGER I 5 3
it to the baker, who, with the assistance of his
wife, a noted gossip, spread it broadcast over
the village. Thus, in the evening, it came to
Cicero’s greedy ears; and so it was that he
came to tell his sister that joe Brill had disap-
peared without a sign. Sophy knew better.
‘Isn’t it dreadful?’ she said to Miss Vicky.
‘joe is very cruel to leave me like this in my
trouble. He knows that I look upon him as
one of my best friends. To be thirty years
with father, and then to leave me! Oh, dear
Vicky, what does it mean ?’
For answer, Miss Vicky read the letter aloud.
It was badly written, and badly spelt; but it
was short and to the point. Amended it ran
as follows :
‘HONOURED MISS,’
‘I am called away on business which
may turn out well for you. When I’ll come
back, miss, I don’t know; but wait in hope.
Stand by and nail your colours to the mast.
Don’t trust no one but Mr. Thorold. Your
prayers, honoured miss, are requested for your
humble servant,
‘ JOSEPH BRILL.’


154. THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘ Most extraordinary!’ said Miss Vicky, and
laid down the letter to gaze blankly at Sophy.
‘I shall go mad with all this worry!’ cried
the poor girl, taking the letter. ‘Oh, dear
Vicky, everything has gone wrong since father
died.’
‘Hush! Don’t talk of it, Sophia. Your
‘pa’s remains have gone, but his soul is above.
Dr. Warrender has been buried, and the verdict
of twelve intelligent men has been given. We
must think no more of these matters. But
joseph’s letter ’
‘Is more of a mystery than all the rest put
together,’ ﬁnished Sophy. ‘just listen to the
nonsense Joe writes: “I’m called away on
business.” What business, Vicky ?—and how.
can it turn out well for me ? He doesn’t know
when he’ll come back; that means he won’t
come back at all. "Wait in hope.” Hope of
what, for goodness’ sake, Vicky? And Alan—-
of course, I’ll trust no one but Alan. How
absurd to put that in! Then he ﬁnishes by
asking my prayers, just as though he were
going to die. Vicky, is joe mad ?’
‘No; joseph is too clear-headed a man to


THE STRANGER I 5 5
lose his wits. It’s my opinion, Sophia, that he’s
gone to search for your poor papa’s remains.’
This was Alan’s opinion also when he read
the letter, and heard of Joe’s disappearance.
He questioned the servants, but they could
give no details. The page, who slept in the
same room, declared that he woke at six o’clock
to ﬁnd Joe’s bed empty; but this did not alarm
him, as Joe was always the ﬁrst in the house
to be up. So Alan went to the railway-station,
and learnt there that the old sailor, carrying
some things tied up in a handkerchief, had
taken the 6.30 train to the junction. A wire
to the junction station-master, who knew Joe,
elicited the reply that he had gone on to
London by the express. Beyond this it was
hopeless to attempt to trace him; for at
Waterloo Station Joe had vanished into the
crowd, and was lost. Alan told the lamenting
Sophy that nothing could now be done but wait
for his return.
‘But will he return?’ demanded the girl
tearfully.
‘I think so. I agree with Miss Vicky: Joe
has gone to search for your father’s body.’


156 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘ But he has no idea where it is. If he did,
he would surely have told me or you, Alan,
knowing how anxious we are !’
‘He may have a clue, and may want to
follow it up himself. And I believe, Sophy,
that joe knows more about the matter than we
think. Do you remember that he gave Cicero
a sovereign to leave the Moat House?’
‘ What of that ?’
‘ Only that a sovereign was a large sum for
a servant like joe to give. He thought, no
doubt, that Cicero knew too much, and he
wanted to get him away before he could be
questioned. It was his guilty conscience which
made him so generous.’
‘Guilty conscience, Alan? What had joe
done?’
‘ Nothing, so far as I know,’ replied Thorold
readily. ‘But I am convinced there is some-
thing in your father’s past life, Sophy, which
would account for the violation of the vault.
joe knows it, but for some reason he won’t tell.
I questioned him about the ridiculous sum he
gave to Cicero, but I could get no satisfactory
explanation out of him—nor could Blair.’


THE STRANGER 157
‘ You don’t think he was the short man with
Dr. Warrender on that night, Alan?’ asked
the girl somewhat tremulously.
‘ No, I do not; I asked the boy who sleeps
in the same room. He said that Joe went to
bed as usual, and that he never heard him go
out. Besides, Sophy, I am certain the accom-
plice of Warrender was Brown.’
‘ The Quiet Gentleman ?’
‘Yes; he had the key of the vault. And
also, by the evidence of the stamp, he had
something to do with jamaica. Perhaps he
knew your father there.’
‘ Perhaps he did. joe would know.’
‘joe will not speak, and, at all events, he
has gone. We must wait until he comes
back.’
‘Are you not going to make any more search
for the body, Alan ?’
‘ My dearest, I have not the slightest idea
where to begin. The case has bafﬂed the
police, and it bafﬂes me. I have made inquiries
all round the country, and I can ﬁnd no one
who saw Brown with your father’s dead body,
or, indeed, anything else which might have


158 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
aroused suspicion. There is only one hope
that we may get it back.’
‘The reward ?’
‘ No; although Blair, and, I believe, Cicero,
intend to work for that. The hope lies in the
chance that Brown, whoever he is, may have
taken away the body for blackmail. In that
case we may get a letter demanding money—
probably a large sum. We must pay it, and
have your father’s remains brought back.’
‘And the murder, Alan ?’
‘Ahl that is the difﬁcult part. When Brown
stole the body he did not intend to commit
murder; that came about in some unforeseen
way. The danger that he may be arrested for
the murder may keep Brown from applying for
blackmail, always supposing, Sophy, that such
is his object.’
‘In that case we may never recover poor
father.’
‘ I’m afraid not. However, we must live in
hope.’
This conversation ended in the usual un-
satisfactory way. On the face of it there was
nothing to be done, for Alan could obtain n0


THE STRANGER 159
clue. Brown, if Brown were indeed the guilty
person, had managed so cleverly that he had
completely cut his trail. Even the offer of the
reward brought forth no fresh information.
The mystery was more a mystery than ever.
In his capacity of trustee, Alan had looked
through the papers of the dead man. He
found no documents or letters whatever relating
to his life in Jamaica, yet there were plenty
dealing with his doings in South Africa.
Twenty years before he had left Kingston
with the child Sophy. He brought her to
England, and placed her in the Hampstead
convent. Then he sailed for the Cape, and
had made his fortune there. Fifteen years
after he returned, to buy the Moat House,
and settled. Sophy came to live with him,
and he had passed a quiet, peaceful time until
his sudden death. So far all was clear; but
the Jamaica life still remained a mystery.
When he died he was over sixty. What had
he done with himself during the forty years
he had lived in the West Indies? Joe could
have told; but Joe, as mysterious as his
master, had disappeared, and even if he had


I60 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
remained, Alan could have got nothing out of
him. The old sailor, as had been proved both
by Thorold and the inspector, was as dumb as
an oyster.
‘ Did Marlow ever mention Jamaica?’ Alan
asked Mr. Phelps, when next they met.
‘Once or twice, in a casual sort of way.
He said he had sailed a good deal amongst
the islands.’
‘And joe was a sailor. I wonder if Marlow
went in for trading there ?’
‘It’s not impossible,’ said the Rector; ‘ but
that fact, even if we knew it to be true, could
throw no light on the disappearance of his
body.’
‘I don’t know. I have a good mind to go
to Jamaica—to Kingston—to make inquiries.
The West Indian Island area is not so very
large. If Marlow had been a trader there
twenty years ago, he would still be remembered
amongst them. I might come across someone
who knew of his past life.’
‘ You might,’ assented Phelps, with an amount
of sarcasm surprising in so mild a man, ‘if
Marlow were his real name.’


THE STRANGER I 6 I
The two were sitting over their wine in the
twilight amid the glimmer of shaded candles.
This last remark Of the Rector’s so surprised
Alan, that he turned suddenly, and knocked
his glass off the table. After he had apologized
for the accident, and after the débris had been
collected by the scandalized butler, the Squire
asked Mr. Phelps what he meant.
‘It is hard to say what I mean.’ The
Rector sipped his port meditatively. ‘ Marlow
was always a mystery to me. Undeniably a
millionaire and a gentleman, Alan, and while
here a man Of clean life. And I have met
people in London ’—the worthy parson dabbled
a little in shares—‘ who knew him in South
Africa. He was highly respected there, and
he made his millions honestly, so far as millions
can be made honestly in these gambling days.
But I always felt that there was some mystery
about the man. It was Warrender who gave
me the clue.’
‘Ah! Warrender came with Marlow to
Heathton.’
‘ Yes, but there was no mystery about that.
Warrender told me that he had met Marlow at
II


162 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
Kingston, jamaica. Afterwards the doctor
settled in New Orleans. There he met
his wife, who was on the stage. He did not
do very well, so Mrs. Warrender urged him
to return to England. He did so, and met
Marlow by chance in London, where they
renewed their acquaintance. Sorry to see that
Warrender was so unfortunate, Marlow brought
him down here, where he did very well.’
‘I don’t think he did well enough to have
supplied Mrs. Warrender with her diamonds,
sir.’
‘Alan, don’t speak evil of the dead. She
did not get the diamonds from Marlow, but
legitimately, my dear boy, from her hus-
band}
‘ And where did he get them ? His practice
must have brought him in little enough.’
‘No, I won’t say that. The fact, I think,
is that there was some understanding between
the two men, and that Marlow gave Warrender
money.’
‘ He must have given him a good deal, then.
Those jewels represent a lot. Seems like a
kind of blackmail, sir.’


THE STRANGER 163
‘On that point, Alan, I would prefer not to
give an opinion.’
‘ And Warrender helped to steal the body of
his patron,’ mused Alan. ‘ Strange. But about
this idea of a false name.’
‘Well, it was at dinner one evening. The
ladies had retired, and I was alone with
Marlow and Warrender, talking over our wine,
just as you and I might be now, Alan. The
doctor had taken a little too much, and on one
occasion he addressed the other man as Beau-
champ. Marlow ﬂashed one ﬁerce glance at
him, which sobered him at once. I made no
remark on the incident at the time, but it stuck
in my memory.’
‘ Then you think that Mr. Marlow was called
Beauchamp in Jamaica ?’
‘Warrender’s slip gave me that impression,’
said the Rector cautiously.
‘ How very strange !’ murmured Alan, toying
with his glass. ‘Do you know the will? Of
course, I am trustee.’
‘ Sophy’s trustee—why, yes. All the money
goes to her, doesn’t it?’
‘ Most of it. There are legacies to myself,
11—2


164 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
joe Brill, and Miss Parsh. Sophy gets the
rest, on conditions.’
‘ What conditions ?’
‘One is that she marries me, the other that
she pays two thousand a year to a man called
Herbert Beauchamp.’
It was the Rector’s turn to be startled.
‘ Bless me, the same name !’
‘ It would appear so. Perhaps this Herbert
Beauchamp is a relative of the so-called
Marlow. The money is to be paid into the
Occidental Bank of London for transmission to
him.’
‘ Where is he ?’
‘ I don’t know. But now that you have told
me so much, I shall take the ﬁrst instalment
myself to the Occidental Bank and make
inquiries about the man. The manager may
be able in some measure to account for all this.’
‘I hope so, I hope so,’ cried the bewildered
Rector, ‘for the mysteries seem to me to
deepen.’
‘Meanwhile,’ went on Alan calmly, ‘I shall
see Mrs. Warrender. She may know some-
thing that will be useful to us.’


THE STRANGER 1 65
‘I don’t think so,’ the Rector said doubt-
fully. ‘Bless me, why should she? It was
long afterwards that she met the doctor in New
Orleans.’
‘ Well, he might have told her about Marlow.
At all events, I’ll see her. You know,’ added
Alan, curling his lip, ‘Mrs. Warrender is fond
of money, and amenable to bribery.’
Thorold was usually correct in his forecasts of
what would happen, but this time he was quite
wrong. The widow received him kindly, and
told him absolutely nothing. Acting on the
advice given her by Cicero, she had been
searching through the papers of her late
husband. She had not found what she sought,
but she had found quite enough to show that
there was a mystery in Mr. Marlow’s past life
—a mystery which was sufﬁciently important
to be worth money. It was the intention of
this astute woman to play her own game, a
game which had for stake a goodly portion of
Sophy’s millions, and she had no desire for a
partner. To Cicero and to his wish to join her
she soon gave the go-by. And when Alan
came upon the scene, she gave him to under-


166 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
stand that she knew nothing. Her intention
was to prepare her bombshell alone, and when
it was ready, to explode it in Sophy’s presence.
That her knowledge would be proﬁtable to her
from a ﬁnancial point of view she felt pretty
secure, for the same blood ran in the veins of
Clara Maria Warrender and of Cicero Gramp.
‘ I wish I could help you, Mr. Thorold,’ she
said; ‘but I knew nothing of Mr. Marlow.
My husband never spoke to me about his life
in jamaica.’
‘Did he leave any papers ?’
‘ Lots of rubbish, but nothing that could
enlighten us as to Mr. Marlow’s past.’
‘Can I see them?’
‘ Oh, I am so sorry, but I burnt them.’
He did not believe her, and went away with
the conviction that she was playing a deep
game. Meanwhile a new personage had come
upon the scene—a man who told an astonish-
ing story, and who made a no less astonishing
claim—a slight, dark, bright-eyed man, accu-
rately dressed, but foreign-looking. He pre-
sented his card at the Moat House, with a
request to see Miss Marlow.


THE STRANGER 167
‘ Captain Lestrange !’ exclaimed Sophy.
‘Who is he, Thomas ?’
‘ Looks like a foreigner, miss. Shall I show
him in ?’
‘ Yes.’ she said ; and the visitor was an-
nounced almost immediately.
He started theatrically when he saw the girl.
Sophy, annoyed by his manner, drew back.
‘ Captain Lestrange ?’ she queried coldly.
‘ Captain Lestrange,’ was the reply, ‘ and
your father.’


CHAPTER XII
A STRANGE STORY
SOPHY neither screamed nor fainted at this
extraordinary announcement; indeed, it ap-
peared to her so very ridiculous that she felt
more inclined to laugh. However, she con-
trolled her feelings, and spoke very quietly—
so quietly that the visitor was somewhat dis-
concerted.
‘Why do you make this strange assertion?’
she asked, looking again at his card.
‘ Because it is true.’
‘ What proof can you give me of its truth?’
‘ Three proofs, Sophy, if I may call ’
‘You may not 1’ interrupted the girl, ﬂushing.
‘I am Miss Marlow.’
‘For the present,’ assented the man, with
an ironical smile. ‘Soon you will be Miss
Lestrange. Three proofs, then, I have. Firstly,


A STRANGE STORY 169
I can tell you the story of how I lost you;
secondly, there is the resemblance between us;
and, thirdly, I have the certiﬁcate of your birth.
Oh, it is easily proved, I can assure you.’
She shivered. He spoke very positively.
What if his claim could be substantiated ? She
looked at him ; she glanced into a near mirror,
and she saw with dismay that there was a
strong resemblance. Like herself, Lestrange,
as he called himself, was slight in build, small
in stature. He also had dark hair and brilliant
eyes; the contour of his face, the chiselling
of his features, resembled her own. Finally,
he had that Spanish look which she knew
she herself possessed. So far as outward ap-
pearances went, she might well have been the
daughter of this rakish-looking stranger. He
smiled. From her furtive glance into the
mirror he guessed her thoughts.
‘ You see the glass proclaims the truth,’ said
he. ‘ Think of your supposed father, Richard
Marlow—tall, fair, blue-eyed, Saxon in looks!
Like myself, you have the Spanish look, and
possess all the grace and colour of Andalusia.
I always thought you would grow up beautiful.


170 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
Your dear mother was the loveliest woman in
jamaica.’
She did not answer, but the colour ebbed
from her checks, the courage from her heart.
It was true enough that she in no way re-
sembled Mr. Marlow. This man might be
her father, after all. Yet he repelled her; the
glance of his glittering eyes gave her a feeling
of repulsion. He was a bad man, of that she
felt certain. But her father? She fought
against her doubts, and with a courage born
of despair she prepared to defend herself until
help arrived. Her thoughts ﬂew to Alan; he
was the champion she desired.
‘I expect my guardian, Mr. Thorold, in a
quarter of an hour,’ she said in a hard voice.
‘ You will be good enough to relate your story
to him. I prefer to hear it when he is
present.’
‘You don’t believe me ?’
‘No, I do not. Mr. Marlow treated me as
his daughter, and I feel myself to be his
daughter. Do you expect me to believe you,
to rush into your arms without proof?’
‘ I have shown you one proof.’


A STRANGE STORY 171
‘A chance resemblance counts for nothing.
What about the certiﬁcate?’
He produced a pocket-book, and took out a
piece of paper.
‘ This is a copy of the entry in the register
of the Church of St. Thomas at Kingston.
You will ﬁnd it all correct, Marie.’
‘Marie! What do you mean ?’
‘That paper will inform you,’ said Lestrange
coolly.
Sophy read the certiﬁcate. Truly, it seemed
regular enough. It stated that on the 24th of
June, 18—, was born at Kingston, in the island
of Jamaica, Marie Annette Celestine Lestrange.
The names of the parents were 'Achille Le-
strange and Zelia, his wife. Sophy could not
_ suppress a start. The 24th of June was her
birthday; the date of the year was also correct.
She was twenty-one years of age now. She
turned to him.
‘ You are Achille Lestrange ?’
‘Your father—yes.’
‘I don’t admit that, monsieur.’
‘ Why do you call me “ monsieur” ?’
‘ You are French, are you not?’


172 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘French by descent, if you will, but I am a
British subject. Also, I am a Roman Catholic.
You are of the same faith ?’
‘ Yes, I am of the true Faith.’
‘ I am glad of that,’ said Lestrange indolently;
he was as indolent as graceful, and reminded
Sophy of a full-fed tiger. ‘I am pleased to
hear that Marlow allowed you to retain your
faith since he took from you your father and
your name.’
‘ Do you know that my father is dead?’
‘Pardon me, he is alive, and sitting before
you.’
Sophy ignored his remark.
‘Do you know that Mr. Marlow is dead?’
she asked again.
‘Ah! now you speak as you should. Yes,
I heard something about his death. The fact
is, I have only just landed from a Royal Mail
steamer at Southampton—two days ago, in
fact—so I know very little. But I have heard
of the disappearance of his body. It is town
talk in London. One cannot open a newspaper
without coming across theories of how it hap-
pened.’


A STRANGE STORY 173
‘And the murder of Dr. Warrender? DO
you know of that also ?’
‘ Of course. The two things go together, as
I understand. Marlow’s body is lost; War-
render was stabbed. How unfortunate that
two people I knew should be out of the way
when I come to claim you !’
‘ Did you know Dr. Warrender ?’ asked
Sophy quickly.
‘As I know myself,’ was the answer.
‘Twenty years ago, when you were a child, a
mere infant, he practised in the town of Fal-
mouth, jamaica. He left after certain events
which happened there, and, I believe, practised
again in New Orleans. He married there, too,
it was said.’
‘ Yes; his wife lives at Heathton.’
‘ Ah ! I shall be glad to see her. Has the man
who murdered her husband been discovered?’
‘ NO ; he cannot be found.’
‘Nor ever will be, I suspect,’ said Captain
Lestrange coolly. ‘ From what I read, the
whole criminal business was conducted in the
most Skilful manner. I wonder why they stole
poor Dick’s body.’


174 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘Poor Dick !’ retorted the girl indignantly.
‘Are you speaking of my father ?’
‘Of the man who passed as your father—
yes, Marie, 1 am.’
‘Pray don’t call me Marie! I am Sophia
Marlow.’
‘As you please. Temper again! Oh, how
you remind me of Zelia !’
She was confounded at the cool assurance of
the man. Nothing seemed to rufﬂe his temper
or banish his eternal smile. He was more hateful
to her than ever. Never would she acknow-
ledge herself his daughter, even should he prove
his claim! She was of age, and her own
mistress. The will of Richard Marlow left the
money, not to ‘my daughter,’ but to ‘ Sophia
Marlow,’ so there was no possibility of the
money being taken from her. Then she
thought of Alan. He would stand between
her and this man. And even as this thought
came into her mind, the door opened, and
Thorold came forward eagerly to meet her;
but, on perceiving the stranger, he stopped
short. Lestrange rose and bowed in a foreign
fashion.


A STRANGE STORY 17 5
‘ Oh, Alan!’ cried Sophy, ‘ I am so glad you
have come! I was waiting for you.’
‘ And I also,’ remarked Lestrange.
‘ Who is this gentleman, Sophy ?’ demanded
Alan.
‘ He calls himself Captain Lestrange. Here
is his card.’
‘Captain in the army of the Peruvian Re-
public,’ said the man, ‘and this young lady’s
father!’
‘ Confound you !—what—-what !’
‘ Oh yes, Alan. He says he is my father—
that my true father stole me from him. Here
is the certiﬁcate of my birth, he says.’
‘And here ’—-Lestrange pointed to Sophy——
‘here is my second self. Can you deny the
resemblance ? By the way, who are you ?’
The inquiry was made with graceful inso-
lence, and was meant to provoke the young
man into losing his temper. But in this it
failed.
‘I am Alan Thorold,’ he said quietly, ‘the
Squire of Heathton, and I am engaged to
marry Miss Marlow ’
‘ Pardon—Mademoiselle Lestrange,’ inter-


176 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
polated the Captain, and resumed his seat. ‘ I
claim this young lady as my daughter.’
‘ Good,’ said Thorold coldly. ‘ Your proofs?’
‘The resemblance between us, the certiﬁcate
of her birth, and the story of how I lost my
dear Marie twenty years ago.’
‘ The resemblance I admit, but that goes for
nothing. As to the certiﬁcate, it is that of
Marie Lestrange, and not of Sophy Marlow.’
‘ Is not the birthday of Miss Marlow, as you
will call her, on the 24th of June ’
‘Yes,’ said Sophy, before Alan could stop
her. ‘ The day and the year are both correct.
I am twenty-one, and I was born on the 24th
ofjune, 18—.’
‘Very good; and at Kingston ?’
‘At Kingston,’ admitted the girl; ‘but, for
all that, I am not your daughter.’
‘I agree with Miss Marlow,’ said Mr.
Thorold. ‘ Let us hear your story. That it
will convince me I do not promise.’
‘Ah!’ cried the foreigner, with an ironical
smile. ‘ None so blind as those who won’t see.
What a pity that Marlow and Warrender are
both dead I’


178 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘ All this,’ said Alan, ‘ is beside the point.’
‘It is necessary to explain my position.
More than twenty years ago I was married at
Kingston to Zelia Durand. We had one child
—a little girl—the same who now sits beside
you.’
‘I won’t hear of it!’ cried Sophy angrily.
‘ We shall see,’ he went on cheerfully. ‘You
may change your mind when I have got to the
end of my story. I regret to say that Mrs.
Lestrange—I do not call her Madame,’ ex-
plained the Captain, ‘ because I am truly
English in speech and manner—well, Mrs.
Lestrange had a bad temper. We did not get
on well together. And, besides, I was jealous ’
—his eyes ﬂashed ﬁre—‘ yes, I was jealous of
Herbert Beauchamp.’
‘Herbert Beauchamp!’ Alan thought of
Marlow’s will and of the legacy. How did
this man come to know the name?


CHAPTER XIII
A STRANGE sTORv—contz'nuea’
CAPTAIN LESTRANGE recovered from his
momentary emotion, and raised his eyebrows
at Alan’s involuntary exclamation.
‘ I beg your pardon, Mr. Thorold.’
‘ Nothing,’ said the other hastily. ‘ I fancied
the name was familiar.’
‘Ah! You may have heard Marlow men-
tion it.’
‘No. He never spoke of his past life.’
‘He had good reason to be reticent, as you
shall hear.’
But here Sophy burst out : ‘ Be good enough
to continue your story without vilifying my
father.’
‘ Your father!’ sneered the Captain.
‘ The story—the story !’ cried Alan.
‘ I continue,’ said Lestrange, with a nod.
12—2


180 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘As I say, I was jealous of Beauchamp, for
before our marriage he had been an admirer of
my Zelia’s. And, as a matter of fact, she was
a singularly attractive woman. You might
guess as much,’ added he blandly, ‘ seeing that
her grace and beauty are reproduced in her
daughter. But to continue: Zelia had many
admirers, three of whom she distinguished
above the others—myself, Herbert Beauchamp,
and my cousin jean Lestrange. I was the
lucky man who won her. jean ceased to pay
any attention to her after the marriage, but
Beauchamp was persistent. I remonstrated
with him—we nearly had a duel—but to no
purpose; and I am sorry to say that Zelia en-
couraged him.’
‘Proceed with your story, and leave my
mother alone,’ cried Sophy.
Alan started, for he remembered with a
pang that Sophy had told him her mother’s
name was Zelia; but he kept silent, and a
terrible dread came over him that this man
would prove his statements after all.
Meanwhile, the narrator went on pleasantly.
‘Beauchamp,’ he said, ﬁngering his mous-


A STRANGE STORY 181
tache, ‘was a sugar-planter—at least, he was
supposed to be one. He had a plantation
some miles from the town of Falmouth, which
is on the other side of jamaica. It was there
that Dr. Warrender practised. He was a
bachelor in those days, and he was considered
rather a wild fellow. Probably for that reason
he was a bosom friend of Beauchamp’s.’
‘ DO you mean to infer that Beauchamp was
wild ?’
‘ Well, not exactly. I must be honest. He
was adventuresome rather than wild. He was
fond of yachting, and had a smart sailing boat
in which he used to cruise amongst the islands.
Warrender frequently went with him. Beau-
champ was a very handsome man, and ex-
tremely popular with women. I know that to
my cost,’ he added bitterly, ‘when he set his
affections on Zelia. She was my wife—she was
the mother of my child—yet she eloped with him.’
‘ I—I—don’t believe it,’ said Sophy in a
suffocating voice.
‘ If it were not true, my child, you would not
be sitting there under the false name of Sophia
Marlow.’


182 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘One moment,’ put in Alan, clasping the
girl’s hand, ‘you have yet to prove that Miss
Marlow is Marie Lestrange.’
‘ If you would not interrupt so often, I could
do so,’ said the man insolently. ‘As I say,
Zelia ran away with Beauchamp. He brought
his yacht to Kingston when I was absent,
and sailed off with her. She carried with her
my child—my adorable Marie Here Le-
strange ﬁxed an affectionate look on Sophy.
‘ I returned to ﬁnd my home dishonoured,’ he
went on, ‘my life wrecked. Jean came to
console me. He also had heard of Beauchamp’s
treachery, and that the boat had sailed for
Falmouth. We followed——’
Here Lestrange broke down. Whether his
emotion was genuine or not, Alan could not
say. He looked at Sophy, and she at him.
Having fought down his emotion, the Captain
resumed his seat and his story :
‘Jean and I arrived at Falmouth. There we
heard that Zelia was very ill, and that Beau-
champ had taken her to his plantation. Dr.
Warrender, our informant said, was in attend-
ance. The whole town knew that she was my


A STRANGE STORY I83
wife, that she had dishonoured me, and that I
was on my way to settle accounts with the man
who had wrecked my happiness. My cousin and
I rode out to Beauchamp’s plantation, for it
was within a few miles of Falmouth, as I said.
The night was dark and stormy—we arrived in
pouring rain, and by the wailing of the negroes
we knew that death was in the house. Yes ’
-he grew dramatic—‘ Zelia was dead ; torture,
remorse, sorrow, had brought about her punish-
ment l’
'You are very ready to condemn her,’ said
Alan.
‘ She had dishonoured me!’ cried the man,
waxing melodramatic. ‘It was well that she
should die. I rushed away to her room, where
she lay calm in death, and Jean remained to
arrange matters with Beauchamp. I challenged
him to a duel. Jean was my second. But Beau-
champ refused to ﬁght, and—he murdered Jean.’
‘ Murdered your cousin?’ queried Alan scepti-
cally.
‘Yes. I was praying beside my wife’s bed.
I heard cries for help, and when I came out
I found Jean dead, stabbed to the heart by


184 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
Beauchamp. The scoundrel had ﬂed—he had
taken my child with him.’
‘Why should he have encumbered himself
with the child ?’
‘To wring my heart!’ replied Lestrange
savagely. ‘He knew that I loved my little
Marie. He carried her away. I would have
followed, but all my troubles and the shock of
Zelia’s death brought on an attack of fever. I
rose from my bed weeks later to hear that
Beauchamp had vanished. On the night he
committed the double crimes of murder and
kidnapping he went on board his yacht at Fal-
mouth, and was never heard of again. I
searched for him everywhere, but without
success.’
‘What about his estate ?’ asked Alan.
‘There he has been cunning. It seemed
that he had long since planned to elope with
Zelia, and that some weeks before he had sold
his land. He took the money with him, and
the child. Had Zelia been alive she would
have gone too. As months and years went by,
I gave up hope, and I believed that the yacht
had foundered.’


A STRANGE STORY 18 5
Suddenly Sophy got up, much agitated.
‘I can listen to this no longer,’ she said.
‘ You are telling lies.’
‘ Her mother’s temper,’ muttered Lestrange.
‘Zelia’s masterly way of crushing argument.’
‘Don’t call her my mother!’ cried Sophy.
‘ I won’t have it. I am not the child that was
taken away by Beauchamp. I never knew
anyone of that name.’
‘ Probably not,’ replied Lestrange smoothly.
‘There were reasons for its being kept from
you. But Mr. Thorold——’
‘Mr. Thorold is waiting to hear the end of
the story,’ said that gentleman coolly. ‘I have
yet to hear who Beauchamp is and how you
traced him.’
‘This is mere evasion.’ The Captain was
losing his temper somewhat. ‘You know who
the man is as well as I do.’
‘I am waiting to hear how you connect the
two.’
‘ What two ?’ asked Miss Marlow.
But in her own heart she knew the answer.
Yet, like a loyal soul, she kept true to the
memory of the dead.


186 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
Lestrange took no notice of her.
‘You are either very dull or very cunning,’
he said, addressing Alan pointedly. ‘The
latter, I think. How did I ﬁnd Beauchamp
again? In a curious way. I saw an illus-
trated paper in Jamaica, which gave a portrait
ofthe famous South African millionaire, Richard
Marlow. The face had on its right cheek a
jagged scar. Jean gave that scar to Beau-
champ with his diamond ring. No doubt it was
the drawing of blood which led to the murder.’
‘Then you assert that Marlow was none
other than Herbert Beauchamp ?’
‘I do. Also that Sophia Marlow is my child
whom he carried away. I have mourned her
for twenty years. By the accident of the
illustrated paper, I have traced her. At
Southampton I heard of Marlow’s death, so
I knew that he had escaped punishment on
earth. But at least I have found my dear
child Marie.’
‘I am not your child !’ she cried. ‘I will
never acknowledge you as my father.’
‘ In that case ’-—Lestrange rose to his feet and
looked very stern—‘ I must appeal to the law.’


A STRANGE STORY I 87
Alan laughed.
‘ The law can’t help you,’ he said. ‘Sophy
is over age and her own mistress. Even if
you can prove your case, you cannot force her
to go with you.’
‘ Natural affection
‘ Don't talk to me about natural affection l’
cried the girl. ‘I know nothing about you.
Nothing in the world will make me go with
you!’
‘ But if I tell my story to the world?’ cried
Lestrange, hinting a threat.
‘ Tell it, by all means,’ said Thorold, putting
his arm round Sophy. ‘ You can hurt only the
memory of the dead. Even if Marlow, as you
assert, killed your cousin, he is dead, and
beyond your reach.’
‘Are you so sure he is dead?’ sneered the man.
‘Of course we are sure,’ cried Sophy indig-
nantly. ‘ Didn’t I see him dead in his cofﬁn ?’
‘Well,’ said Lestrange, preparing to go, ‘it
is most extraordinary to me that he should
have died so suddenly and so conveniently.
His body, too, has been stolen. That also is
convenient.’
I


188 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘ Do you mean that he is alive?’
‘Yes. He feigned death to escape me.’
‘ How could he have known that you were
coming ?’
‘ I don’t know,’ was the answer, ‘ but I shall
ﬁnd out. It shall be my business to search for
the body of Richard Marlow.’
‘ Do,’ said Thorold calmly. ‘ And when you
ﬁnd it you will gain the reward of a thousand
pounds.’
‘I shall gain more than that, Mr. Thorold.
My daughter ’
‘ Never! Never! Leave this house, sir,
and don’t come near me again !’
The man moved towards the door. He had
picked up the certiﬁcate and put it in his pocket.
‘You turn your own father out into the
street,’ he said. ‘Very good. I shall take my
own means of punishing you for your want of
ﬁlial respect. It is to the bad inﬂuence of
Mr. Thorold that I owe this reception. Be
assured, Mr. Thorold, that I shall not forget it.
To revert to the tongue of my progenitors, I
shall say Au revoir but not “Adieu.” We
shall meet again.’


A STRANGE STORY 189
And clapping on his hat with a jaunty air,
Captain Lestrange walked out of the room.
When the door had closed after him, Sophy
turned to Alan.
‘ Do you think this story is true ?’ she asked.
‘ I must admit that there appears to be some
truth in it,’ was the reply. ‘The certiﬁcate
is correct as to your age, your birthday, and
your birthplace, and the name of your mother
also is correct.’
‘ Then, am I that man’s daughter?’
‘Not necessarily. He may have assumed
the name. He may—Oh, I don’t know what
to think! But even if he proves his case, you
won’t go with him?’
‘Never! never! How can we ﬁnd out the
truth ?’
‘joe might know. I wish he would come
back. I wonder if, after all, your father can
be alive—Marlow, I mean.’
‘ How can that be ? We both saw him dead.
Dr. Warrender gave a certiﬁcate of the death.
Why do you ask?’
‘Well, it is strange. In his will a sum of
two thousand a year is left to be paid to a


190 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
man called Herbert Beauchamp, through the
Occidental Bank.’
‘And he says that my father was Herbert
Beauchamp.’
‘ I know. Can your father have feigned
death to avoid him ?’
‘ Impossible. He did not know Captain
Lestrange was coming.’
‘Well,’ said Alan slowly, ‘there was that
West Indian letter which agitated him so much.
It might have been a warning. However, it is
no use theorizing. I’ll go to the Occidental
Bank, and ﬁnd out Herbert Beauchamp.’
‘You won’t ﬁnd that he is my own father,
Alan ; I am sure of that. He may be a relative.
No, no! He is not a murderer! He is dead
—quite dead! I don’t believe a word of the
story.’
Alan sighed.
‘Time alone can prove its truth or falsehood,
Sophy,’ he said.


CHAPTER XIV
THE ENMITY OF CAPTAIN LESTRANGE
THAT same evening the Rector was coming
in to dine with Alan. The young man was
glad that he had asked him, for he was anxious
to consult his old friend about the strange tale
he had heard, and about the steps which
should be taken to prove its truth or falsity.
He stayed with Sophy till it was nearly
six o’clock. Miss Parsh had not been called
into counsel. She was too timid, they thought,
and too likely to lose her head. Moreover,
Alan felt that she would give the girl over-
much sympathy and make her nervous. So he
did all the bracing he could, advised her not
to take the old lady into her conﬁdence, and
rode home to the Abbey Farm in the cool
twilight.
As he passed the Good Samaritan, Mrs.


192 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
Timber came ﬂying out in a ﬂutter of excite-
ment.
‘Sir! sir! Mr. Thorold !’ she called. And
then, as he checked his horse: ‘ Is the gentle-
man all right? He’s a furriner, and I never
did hold as they could pay honest.’
‘What are you talking about, Mrs. Timber?’
asked the young man, utterly bewildered.
‘Why, of the gentleman you sent to me,
sir.’
‘I sent no gentleman. Stay! Do you
mean Captain Lestrange ?’
‘Yes, sir, that’s his name—a nasty French
name. He said you recommended my house.
I’m sure I’m very much obliged, Mr. Thorold.’
Here Mrs. Timber dropped her best curtsy
and smiled a sour smile. ‘But I arsk again,
sir, Is he good pay?’
Alan was amazed at the Captain’s impudence
in making him stand sponsor for his respecta-
bility.
‘ I don’t know anything about the gentleman,
Mrs. Timber,’ he said, giving his horse the
spur. ‘ He is a stranger to me.’
‘ Oh, is he ?’ muttered the landlady to herself


ENMITY OF CAPTAIN LESTRANGE 193
as Alan galloped off. ‘Well, he don’t get
nothing out of me till I sees the colour of his
money. The idea of giving Mr. Thorold’s
name when he had no right to! Ah! I doubt
he’s a robber of the widder and the orphan.
But I’ll show him!’
And Mrs. Timber, full of wrath, went into
her hotel to have it out with her new lodger. ‘
Alan rode fast and hard in the waning light,
between the ﬂowering hedgerows—rode to get
away from his thoughts. The advent of Le-
strange with his cut-and-dried story, with his
accusation of the dead, and his Claim to be
Sophy’s father, was ominous of evil. Alan had
his own uncomfortable feelings, but of these he
decided to tell no one, not even Phelps, although
Phelps was his very good friend. In taking
this resolution, Alan made a very serious
mistake—a mistake which he found out when
it was too late to remedy his injudicious silence.
He had just time to dress for dinner before
his guest arrived. Knowing that Mr. Phelps
was dainty in his eating, Mrs. Hester had
prepared a meal such as the good Rector
loved. Alan’s wine was of the best, and he
13


194. THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
did not stint it, so Mr. Phelps addressed
himself to the solemn business of dinner, with
the conviction that he would enjoy himself;
and Alan kept his news to himself until they
were in the smoking-room. Then, when his
guest was sipping aromatic black coffee and in-
haling the fragrance of an excellent cigar, the
young Squire felt compelled to speak, and ex-
ploded his bombshell without further notice.
‘Mr. Phelps, I have unpleasant news,’ he
said, ﬁlling his pipe.
The clergyman looked piteously at the ex-
cellent cigar, and took another sip of the coffee.
‘Oh, Alan, my boy, must you?’
‘You can judge for yourself,’ replied Alan,
unable to suppress a smile. ‘Sophy had a
visitor to-day.’
‘ Indeed! Anyone connected with these
mysteries which so perplex us?’
‘In one way, yes; in another, no. He is a
Captain Lestrange.’
‘ Lestrange! Lestrange!’ repeated the Rector.
‘ I don’t know the name. Who is he ?’
‘Sophy’s father !’ said Alan simply, and lighted
up, while Mr. Phelps remonstrated :


ENMITY OF CAPTAIN LESTRANGE 195
‘ My dear Alan, if this is a jest——-’
‘ It is no jest, sir, but, I fear, a grim reality.
This man comes from Jamaica.’
‘ Dear me! Marlow came from Jamaica.
Does he know ’
‘ He knows all Marlow’s past life.’
‘The dev—ahem! God forgive me for
swearing. And who was Marlow ?’
‘According to Lestrange, a murderer.’
Phelps dropped his cigar and stared at his
old pupil.
‘Alan, are you mad?’
‘ No. At the present moment I am particu-
larly sane. This man says that Marlow was a
murderer, and he himself claims to be Sophy’s
father. Take some green Chartreuse, Mr.
Phelps, and I’ll tell you all about it.’
The Rector’s nerves had received such a
shock at the abrupt way in which Alan had told
his news that he very willingly poured himself
out a liqueur. Then he relighted his cigar,
and signed to the young man to proceed.
‘ If I must hear it !’ sighed he. ‘ Such a pity,
too, when I was so comfortable. Ah! Man
is born to trouble. Go on, my dear lad !’

13—2


196 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘You will ﬁnd it really interesting,’ said
Thorold encouragingly, and told his story in
as concise a way as he could. The narrative
was interrupted frequently by the Rector.
When it was ended he was too much astonished
to make any remark, and the other had to stir
up his intelligence. ‘What do you think of
it, sir ?’
‘Really—bless me !—I hardly know. Do
you believe it, Alan ?’
‘There are so many things in it which I
know to be true, that I can’t help thinking
the man is honest, in so far as his story goes,’
said Alan gloomily. ‘ Whether Sophy is really
his child I can’t say. She is certainly very like
him, and the certiﬁcate appears to be genuine.
Again, Mr. Phelps, you heard Warrender call
Marlow “Beauchamp,” and, as I told you, a
sum of two thousand a year is by Marlow’s will
to be paid to a Herbert Beauchamp. What
if he should be Marlow himself?’
‘I can’t-—I won’t believe it!’ cried the
Rector, rubbing his bald head. ‘The man
is as dead as a doornail—you saw the
corpse yourself, Alan. The body was put in a


ENMITY OF CAPTAIN LESTRANGE I97
leaden casing, hermetically sealed, and that in
a tightly-screwed-down oaken cofﬁn. Even if
Marlow had been in a trance—if that is what
you mean—he could not have survived that!
He would have died of suffocation—he would
have been asphyxiated. Bless my soul ! I
don’t believe it for one moment.’
‘ But how do you account for the income left
to Herbert Beauchamp ?’
‘ He must be a relative,’ said the Rector.
‘ But the same Christian name, Mr. Phelps ?
Still, of course, that is not impossible—he might
be a relative. I will see the manager of the
bank, and insist upon knowing the address of
this man.’
‘ Supposing he won’t give it?’
‘Then I shall call in the police. I must get
to the bottom of this affair. Why should that
body have been stolen ?’
‘ Perhaps Lestrange can tell you, Alan.’
The little parson jumped up in a state of wild
excitement. ‘ What if he should be the Quiet
Gentleman—Brown ?’
‘ Impossible—he landed at Southampton
only two days ago.’


198 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘ Oh ! so he says, but you must ﬁnd out if it
is true.’
‘ I will examine the passenger-list of the last
steamer.’
‘ It is strange,’ said the Rector—‘ strange that
Marlow—let us call him Marlow—should have
died so opportunely. If you remember, he
was much worried by a West Indian letter he
received a week before his death.’
‘ Yes ; I believe that was written to warn him
against Lestrange. To escape being arrested
on a charge of murder, he—he—well, what did
he do.’
‘ He didn’t feign death, at all events,’ said
Mr. Phelps. ‘Bless me, Alan! I know the feel
and the look of a corpse. I’ve seen dozens!
Besides, you studied for medicine—your know-
ledge must tell you ’
‘Yes, I could have sworn he was, as you say,
dead as a doornail. Of course ’-—Alan cast
about in his mind for some hypothesis—‘ that
is—the shock of impending danger hinted at in
that letter might have killed him. He died in
a ﬁt, sir, and died very suddenly.’
‘ Humph ! You didn’t attend him ?’


ENMITY OF CAPTAIN LESTRANGE 199
‘I—a layman! My dear sir, Warrender
attended him.’
‘And Warrender was his bosom friend in
Jamaica. Alan, Warrender must have recog-
nised him as Beauchamp—must have known
Sophy was not his daughter—must have
known that he had been accused of murder in
Jamaica.’
‘Quite so,’ said Alan composedly, ‘and so
Mrs. Warrender’s diamonds are accounted for.
He blackmailed Marlow. I can see it plainly.’
‘ Then the murder of—of Warrender ?’ whis-
pered the Rector, with a look of terror.
‘Ah! we are still in the dark about that.
Marlow, being dead, could not have killed him.
’Humph! I wonder if Lestrange is the Quiet
Gentleman after all !’
‘ Alan!’ said Phelps suddenly. ‘Joe Brill !’
‘ What about him ?’
‘Do you think he is guilty? He was
devoted to his master. Warrender possessed
his master’s secret, and Joe might have
killed him, and have run away to escape
arrest.’
Alan shook his head.


200 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘There was no suspicion against joe,’ he
said. ‘ Why should he have run away ?’
‘ His guilty conscience, perhaps.’
‘A man who had nerve enough to commit
such a murder and take the corpse of his
victim back to the vault wouldn’t have any
conscience to speak of. Besides, the boy who
slept in joe’s room says he was not out on
that night.’
‘ No, no—of course not,’ said the Rector.
‘Then it can’t be joe. Well, I give it up!’
‘I don’t,’ said Alan grimly. ‘I go to
London to-morrow to solve the mystery.’
This he did. He left next morning and was
away for three days, leaving Mr. Phelps to
console and protect Sophy from any annoyance
on the part of Lestrange, who remained in the
village. The Captain propitiated Mrs. Timber
by the payment of a week’s board and lodging
in advance, and this was enough to convince
the landlady that he was a most estimable
person.
Naturally enough, he and Cicero Gramp
came into contact, and, equally naturally,
Cicero did his best to ﬁnd out what business


ENMITY OF CAPTAIN LESTRANGE 201
the Captain had in Heathton. But this was
no easy task, for Lestrange was guarded in
speech, and did not at ﬁrst encourage his
advances, judging very truly that Mr. Gramp
was a scoundrel, and could be dangerous. But
ﬁnally he decided that the gentleman in broad-
cloth, if properly handled, could be converted
into a useful tool, and he determined to
make use of him in that capacity. The
intimacy began one night when Cicero, having
taken more than was good for him, allowed
his tongue to wag more freely than usual.
Lestrange thus became aware that it could
dispense useful knowledge.
‘I tell you what it is, my noble Captain,’
said Cicero, with drunken gravity. ‘You are
a clever man—I am another. Why shouldn’t
we get that reward by working together?’
‘Really, my friend, I hardly see what I can
do. I am a stranger here.’
‘That’s why we ought to work together.
You are not in these parts for nothing. The
gossip ofservants—ah l’ Gramp looked Signiﬁ-
cantly at Lestrange. ‘Oh, I heard how you
were turned out of the Moat House.’


202 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘What do you mean, my dear friend?’ asked
the Captain, in silky tones.
‘Oh ! that you’ve got some game on—so
have I. Let us work together.’
‘Pooh! pooh ! You are talking nonsense.’
‘Nonsense which may mean money. See
here, I know that you were kicked out of the
Moat House. Ah ! the gossip of menials.’
‘ Pardon me, but I was not kicked out.’
‘ You were. Young Thorold did it. He
wants all the money, and he’ll get it by marry-
ing that girl—if I let him.’
‘ If you let him ? What do you mean ?’
‘ Mean ? Why, that I hate young Thorold,
and that I want a few thousands!’
‘ Oh ! and how do you intend to get them?’
‘ Never you mind. If we work together
--but, then, we don’t. Cedant arma toga—
which means, you’re a soldier, I’m a lawyer—
so that’s all right. Goo’night.’
And he staggered off, leaving Lestrange
with much food for meditation.
The outcome of this was that next morning
the Captain met Cicero halfway, and later in
the day Sophy received a note from Lestrange


ENMITY OF CAPTAIN LESTRANGE 203
asking to see her. If she would not consent,
he added, Mr. Thorold would be placed in a
position of great danger.
After some reﬂection Sophy sent for Mr.
Phelps, and they decided to see the scamp. So
on a Saturday morning Captain Lestrange was
received in the library of the Rectory.
‘ Well, sir,’ said Phelps, ‘and what have you
to say about Mr. Thorold ?’
‘Only this,’ was the reply: ‘that he is a
scoundrel !’
‘Indeed!’ the Rector stopped Sophy’s ex-
clamations. ‘On what grounds ?’
‘On the grounds that it was he who stole
the body of Richard Marlow !’


CHAPTER XV
TROUBLE
THE Rector and Sophy looked at one another,
and then at Lestrange, smiling and conﬁdent.
They knew Alan too well to credit so mon-
strous an accusation for one moment. Indeed,
the idea appeared so ridiculous to Sophy that
she laughed outright.
Lestrange frowned.
‘You laugh now,’ he said. ‘You will weep
later. What I say is true. Thorold stole the
body of your father—your supposed father !’ he
sneered, ‘for, say what you like, you are my
child.’
‘I don’t acknowledge the relationship,’ re-
torted the girl with spirit, ‘and I never will.
Mr. Marlow was my father. I shall always
think of him as such. As to your accusation
of Mr. Thorold, it is merely another trick to


TROUBLE 20 5
cause me trouble. I suppose you will say next
that he murdered Dr. Warrender ?’
‘ I say nothing of the sort,’ replied the
Captain, nettled by her open contempt, ‘ yet he
may have done so, for all I know. But I state
only what I can prove.’
‘You cannot prove this ridiculous charge !’
cried the Rector. ‘Mr. Thorold is incapable
of such a crime.’
‘Ah!’ drawled the other coolly, ‘you see,
Mr. Thorold is scientiﬁc, and does not look
upon his deed as a crime.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ asked Mr.
Phelps sharply.
‘I mean that Mr. Thorold was once a
medical student—at least, I have been told as
much.’
‘ It is true, quite true,’ said Sophy, opening
her eyes, for in her innocence she did not see
what the man meant. But the Rector did,
and winced. He anticipated the accuser.
‘You mean that Mr. Thorold stole the body
for scientiﬁc purposes ?’
‘For dissection—yes. Mr. Thorold is, I
understand, an enthusiast in surgery. Marlow


206 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
—or, rather, I should say, Beauchamp—died
of an obscure disease, and Warrender and
Thorold removed the body to hold a post-
mortem on it. They were the men seen by
Cicero Gramp—you see, I know all about it.
They probably carried the body to the moor
but to dissect it. Whether they quarrelled or
not, I do not know, nor do I know if it was
Thorold who killed the doctor. All I say is,
that those two stole the body.’
‘Oh, indeed!’ remarked Mr. Phelps ironi-
cally; ‘and Thorold put the remains of Dr.
Warrender back in the vault, I suppose? And
what did he do with Marlow’s body?’
‘I don’t know. Buried it on the moor, very
likely.’
‘ Mr. Thorold had not the key of the vault,’
cried Sophy indignantly. ‘ It had been stolen
by the Quiet Gentleman.’
‘So I understand,’ retorted Lestrange sharply.
‘And who says so? Mr. Thorold himself.
Believe me, sir,’ he turned to the Rector,
‘that key was never stolen. Thorold had it
in his pocket. He lied about that for his own
safety.’


TROUBLE 207
‘ I don’t believe it,’ said Mr. Phelps decisively.
‘ Thorold was at Bournemouth on the night
the crime was committed.’
‘ I know he was !’ cried Sophy, with emphasis.
‘ He was with me and Miss Parsh.’
‘ You are wrong, both of you. He came
back to Heathton on that night, and returned
to Bournemouth before dawn. I understand it
is only an hour’s journey from here.’
‘ It is not true,’ insisted Sophy uneasily.
‘I saw Mr. Thorold at eight o’clock that night
at the Soudan Hotel.’
‘I dare say. But at ten o’clock he was at
Heathton.’
‘ How can you prove that ?’
‘ If you will permit me,’ said Lestrange, and
rising, he left the room.
Before Mr. Phelps and Sophy could ex-
change a remark, he was back again with a
man who had evidently been waiting.
‘Jarks !’ cried the Rector, much annoyed.
‘And what has Jarks to do with this preposter-
ous story ?’
‘If you ask him he will tell you,’ said Le-
strange politely, and resumed his seat.


208 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
The Rector looked indignantly at his sexton,
who, as minor ofﬁcial in the church, should
have quailed before his superior. But there
was no quailing or cringing about jarks. The
old fellow was as malicious as a magpie, and as
garrulous. Looking more rusty than ever, he
stood twisting his greasy old hat, and shifting
from one leg to the other.
‘Oh, I seed Muster Alan; yes, I seed un.
On the night 0’ the funeral I were in the yard,
alookin’ at ’em as I’d tucked away, an’ I clapped
eyes on Muster Alan. He wor’ lookin’ at the
vault where I’d put away the last of ’em, he
wor.’
‘About what time was that?’ asked Mr.
Phelps, with severity.
‘Well, it might be about ten, Muster Phelps,
sir.’
‘ And what were you doing out of bed at that
hour ?’
‘Lookin’ at ’em,’ retorted Jarks, wiping his
mouth. ‘Lar’ bless you, Muster Phelps, all in
the yard’s m’own handiwork save some of the
old uns. I like to see ’em all quiet an’ humble
in their narrow homes. Ay, an’ I seed Muster


TROUBLE 209
Alan, an’ be sez, “I’ve come to look round,
Jarks, an’ you needn’t say as I’ve bin about.
Here’s money for ye.” Ay, he did say that,
an’ guv me money. Course I said nothing,
as there isn’t no law agin folk walkin’ round
to see how them as has passed away is gettin’
along.’
‘ How long was Mr. Thorold with you?’
‘It might be about ﬁve minutes, Sir. He
went to ketch a train at the half-hour to go
back to Miss Sophy—hopin’ I sees you well,
miss!’ with a pull of his forelock to the girl,
who was standing pale and trembling at this
disastrous conﬁrmation.
‘ Why didn’t you tell me this, jarks ?’
‘ Lor’ bless you, Miss Sophy, ’twas little use
vexin’ you. ’Sides, when I found Muster
Marlow was gone, arter bein’ put away com-
fortable-like in the vault, I did say to Muster
Alan arterwards as it wasn’t friendly-like of him
to upset my handiwork. But Muster Alan he
says as he had nowt to do with the takin’ of
him, an’ how he got out of the vault, being
screwed and soldered down, was more than he
knew. So he being the squire, Miss Sophy,
14


210 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
it wasn’t my place to say nothin’. I knows
the station of life I’ve bin called to.’
‘ It was your duty to come to me,’ said the
Rector severely.
‘Naw, naw !’ Jarks shook his head. "Tain’t
no good makin’ bad blood, Muster Phelps.
Muster Alan wor in the yard, but he didn’t take
the last of ’em away.’
‘I say he did!’ put in Lestrange, with
emphasis.
‘Ay, ay! You thinks you knows a lot.
But I tell you, you don’t. If it wasn’t that I
let slip to that fat un while mazed wi’ drink, as
I seed Muster Alan, you’d niver have know’d
naught. N aw! But when the wine’s in Jarks
he talks foolish-like. Ay, he babbles as a babe
does Jarks !’
‘Who is this fat man he speaks of?’ asked
Sophy.
‘My other witness,’ replied Lestrange
promptly. ‘You can go, Jarks. Send in
Cicero.’
The sexton nodded, wiped his mouth, and
backed to the door with a ﬁnal excuse.
‘As I wor sayin’, Muster Phelps, ’twouldn’t


TROUBLE 21 I
be right to blame Jarks for holdin’ the tongue
0’ he, Muster Alan wantin’ it so. But the red
wine—which is to say, beer an’ such like—
maketh the heart of Jarks glad, as sez Holy
Scripture. An’ I’ll go now, wishin’ you an’
Miss Sophy happiness an’ long life.’
After which apologetic speech the old sinner
creaked out of the room pulling his forelock.
‘ You see,’ said Lestrange, with a triumphant
look at the other two, ‘ Thorold was in Heath-
ton, and in the churchyard on that night.’
‘ It would seem so; but that does not prove
he took away the body,’ put in Sophy.
‘ My second witness can prove that. Come
in, Cicero.’
The fat man, resplendent in new clothes,
rolled into the room.
‘ Pax vobiscum,’ said he.
The Rector turned an angry glance on him.
‘This is not the time for playing the fool,’
he said cuttingly. ‘ You are a cunning rogue,
but some day you will overreach yourself. Now,
then, out with your lie.’
‘Lie! I scorn to pervert the truth, reverend
sir. I shall tell the truth in parts naturaliéus.’
14—2


212 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘I hope not,’ threw in the Rector, laugh-
ing, in spite of himself, at this abuse of
quotation.
‘Which means, reverend sir,’ went on the
old scoundrel coolly, ‘that in the but on the
heath I found the corpse of Dr. Warrender.’
‘ But not the body of my father,’ said
Sophy.
‘No, but I saw that taken away from the
vault. Undoubtedly, Miss Marlow, the body
was carried to the hut for the purpose of dis-
section by Mr. Thorold. He was foolish
enough to leave behind him evidence of his
iniquitous purpose. Behold !' and Cicero pro-
duced a lancet in his most dramatic manner.
‘ Nota bene,’ said he grandly.
Phelps bent forward and took the instrument
in his hand. It had an ivory handle, on which
were carved two letters, ‘ A. T.’
‘ You found this in the hut ?’ he asked.
‘I did, reverend sir. It must have been
dropped by Mr. Thorold. If not, how did it
come there ? I pause for a reply.’
‘ Why did you not tell Mr. Thorold about
this?’ demanded Sophy.


TROUBLE 2 1 3

‘I bided my time ’
‘ To blackmail him!’ she cried, with scorn.
‘A harsh word, Miss Sophia. Certainly I
would have demanded a small payment from
Mr. Thorold, had I shown him that. But
Mr. Thorold insulted me, it matters not how.
Nemo me impune lacessz't, Miss Sophia, and
I determined to punish the young man. My
military friend was good enough to enter
into partnership with me for the purpose
of clearing up this matter, hence I told him
of my discovery. There is no more to be
said.’
‘ Save this,’ put in Lestrange, who appeared
to be getting somewhat weary of Cicero’s
cumbersome diction, ‘that here is the proof
that it was Thorold who carried off the body.
Do you believe now in his guilt ?’
‘I reserve my opinion,’ said the Rector, who
could not but acknowledge to himself that
things looked black for Alan.
‘ I don’t !’ cried Sophy, rising. ‘If ﬁfty men,
with ﬁfty lancets, came to tell me this Story, I
would not believe a word against Mr. Thorold.
He can explain. I believe in him ﬁrmly, and,


214. THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
to prove my belief, I shall marry him as soon
as I can.’
‘You’ll do nothing of the sort!’ cried Le-
strange, losing his temper. ‘ I am your father,
and I command you to come with me.’
‘And I am my own mistress, and I refuse,’
she said quietly. ‘ You can’t frighten me. I
don’t believe your stories.’
‘Nor do I,’ said the Rector. ‘When Mr.
Thorold comes back, he will, no doubt, be able
to explain his presence in Heathton on that
night, and also the loss of his lancet.’
‘He shall explain it to the police!’ cried
Lestrange, in a threatening manner.
‘No, no,’ said Cicero, apprehensive at this
mention of his natural enemies; ‘let us take
counsel together. Cannot this matter be ad-
justed, so that Mr. Thorold may escape the
reward of his iniquitous proceedings?’
Sophy looked at him with a satirical smile.
Then she turned to address Lestrange as the
senior partner in this ﬁrm of scoundrels.
‘ How much do you want?’ she asked.
The Captain winced. He did not like the
question to be put quite so crudely.


TROUBLE 2 1 5
‘ I do not understand,’ he said.
‘ I think you do. How much do you require
to hold your tongue?’
‘ Say ﬁve thousand,’ whispered Mr. Gramp.
But Lestrange shook him off, and marched
to the door very upright and indignant.
‘ I will let you know my price
‘ Ah !’ said Sophy scornfully.
‘When I have seen the police,’ ﬁnished he,
and marched out.
Cicero had to follow, but he turned at the
door and winked.
‘He will not go to the police,’ said he, in a
hurried voice. ‘ Might I suggest ﬁve ’
‘ Be off, you scoundrel !’ cried the Rector
indignantly, and thrust him out.
Then he resumed his seat, and looked at
Sophy.
‘ Well ?’ said he.
‘ Alan can explain,’ said she decisively.
‘ But if Lestrange goes to the police?’
‘ He won’t,’ she said. ‘ Cicero will stop that.
Meanwhile I wait for Alan.’
They talked on for a long time, but could
come to no conclusion. Undoubtedly Alan


216 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
had been near the vault on that night, had been
in the hut, and had said nothing of these things
to anyone. It certainly looked suspicious, but
Sophy insisted that her lover could and would
explain. In spite of appearances, she had faith
in Alan’s honesty and in Alan’s honour.
That same evening she dined with the
Rector, without even Miss Vicky in attend-
ance.
Towards the end of the meal, Alan walked
in unexpectedly. He looked somewhat down-
cast, but there was no sign of fear in his
bearing. After greetings had been exchanged
he sat down with them. Neither the Rector
nor Sophy was anxious to inform him of the
accusation which had been brought against
him.
‘ How went the business ?’ asked Mr. Phelps.
‘ Badly—for us,’ was the reply. ‘ Lestrange
certainly arrived by the boat he said he came
by. I saw his name, Achille Lestrange, on the
passenger-list of the Negress.’
‘Ah! the devil speaks true sometimes !’
said the Rector. ‘And what about Beau-
champ ?’


TROUBLE 2 1 7
‘Yes, yes!’ cried Sophy. ‘ Did you ﬁnd
him ? Did you see him ?’
‘ No,’ replied Alan quietly, ‘ but I heard of
him. Beauchamp is dead !’


CHAPTER XVI
ALAN’S DEFENCE
‘ 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. ‘ N o 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


220 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘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 dis-
coveries. 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 anyone, have a right
to know.’
He might have had some inkling of what she
meant, for his face turned a dark red. Never-
theless, 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


ALAN’S DEFENCE 22 I
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 but 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 honoured to the light of day ?


ALAN’S DEFENCE 22 3
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


224 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
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 something
to hold his tongue. Itappears that he did not.
I suppose Lestrange bribed him ?’
‘ Well, no,’ said the Rector, ‘ not exactly.
jarks, in his cups, told that scoundrel Gramp,
and he told Lestrange.’
‘Oh ! So there are two of them in league to
make trouble. A proper pair of scoundrels !’
‘ But,’ said Sophy, more composedly, ‘you
have not told us why you came.’
‘ I came,’ said her lover, determined now to
make a clean breast of it, ‘ to look at the vault
—to see that all was safe.’
The Rector uttered an exclamation of as-
tonishment.


ALAN’S DEFENCE 225
‘ Did you expect, then, that there would be
some foul play ?’
‘ Well, I hardly know, Sir. It was this way:
After Mr. Marlow received that letter from the
West I ndies—which doubtless warned him that
Lestrange was on his track—he was much
worried. He would not tell me the reason. but
kept speaking of some shock he had had which
might cause his death. “ And I don’t know if
the scoundrel will let my body rest in its grave,”
he said in a ﬁt of passion. I asked to whom
he alluded, but he would say no more. When
he died so unexpectedly, his words came back
to me. I wondered if he had enemies who
might disturb his remains, and all that day after
the funeral I felt so bothered about it that I
could not rest without coming back to see if all
was well.’
‘ And you found nothing wrong ?’
‘Nothing, sir. I was in the churchyard for
about a quarter of an hour. I examined the door
of the vault, and saw everything was right. As
I came away I met Jarks; the rest you know.’
‘ You saw no signs of that tramp in the
churchyard ?’
I5


226 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘None! I expect he was sleeping when I
was there. According to his story, it was after
midnight when the vault was opened.’
‘ Alan,’ said Sophy, much relieved, ‘ how is it
they did not know at Heathton Station that you
were here ?’
‘ I did not go to Heathton Station. I stopped
at Murbury, and walked from there across the
heath. I went back the same way. I did so
simply to keep the tongues of gossips quiet.
I did not want you to be worried, Sophy; and
after all,’ he said, after a pause, ‘beyond the
chance words of your father I had no reason
to think that anything was wrong. Ah! if I
had only stayed in the churchyard all night,
I should have prevented this trouble. The
vault would never have been broken into, and
poor Warrender would still be alive.’
The Rector nodded approval of this speech,
and poured himself out a glass of wine, which,
poor man, he sadly needed. Lestrange’s accu-
sation had been disproved ; still, there remained
the evidence of Cicero. Sophy put the ques-
tion which was in the Rector’s mind.
‘Captain Lestrange brought Cicero here,


ALAN’S DEFENCE 227
Alan,’ she said abruptly, ‘and he—Cicero, I
mean—declared that you were in the but on
the moor that night.’
‘ I was not!’ cried young Thorold hotly. ‘ I
was never near the hut. Why should I have
been? Ask yourself, as I had to walk to and
from Murbury, and spend a quarter of an hour
in the churchyard, had I time to cross the moor
all the distance to the hut?’
‘Of course, you know I don’t believe it.
But Cicero ’
‘Well, and how can he prove I was there?’
he said impatiently.
‘He found something there which belonged
to you.’
‘What ?’
‘ A lancet.’
‘A lancet! And why mine? Warrender
was a doctor; he took away the body—why
should the lancet not belong to him? If he
had intended to dissect the body—which he
might have, for all I know—he would want
one.’
‘No doubt,’ Mr. Phelps said dryly. ‘But
this lancet had your initials on the ivory handle.

15—2


ALAN’S DEFENCE _ 229
were all in the dark, and such gleams of light
as came served only to confuse them the more.
Lestrange could not be the Quiet Gentleman,
for, as had been proved by Alan, he had landed
in England only the week before. Brown was
the deus ex mac/zina who could put matters
right, and Brown had vanished. He could
reappear only at the risk of being charged
with murder.
Why had the body been removed? If it
were a case of blackmailing, the claim would
have been made long since. The police were
apparently as much at a loss as Alan himself.
And Blair
‘Does Blair know of this accusation ?’ asked
Mr. Thorold suddenly.
‘I am certain he does not,’ answered the
Rector emphatically. ‘In the ﬁrst place, it
was only made to-day. Lestrange, I am sure,
wants money, and would come to us before
going to the police.’
‘ If he does not want money, Cicero does,’ put
in Sophy scornfully.
‘In the second place,’ resumed Mr. Phelps,
‘ Blair is away.’


CHAPTER XVII
JOE’S EVIDENCE
FOR a moment the three gazed in silence and
amazement at the old maid. She stood before
them, all touzled and red with haste, a ﬁgure of
fun she would not have recognised for herself.
Her buckram demeanour had for once given
way to the real woman. Alan was the ﬁrst to
speak, and he jumped up from the table with a
shout of joy. From an unexpected quarter,
in the most unexpected manner, help had
come, and at the moment when it was most
needed.
‘Joe Brill !’ cried Mr. Thorold. ‘He is the
very man I want. Where is he, Miss
Vicky ?’
‘At the Moat House. I went to the kitchen
for a moment ; he was there—he had just come
in. I thought he was a ghost,’ declared the


232 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
little lady solemnly ; ‘indeed I did, until he con-
vinced me that he was ﬂesh and blood.’
‘What explanation did he make?’ asked
Sophy anxiously.
‘None—to me. He said he was ready to
explain his absence to Mr. Thorold.’
‘Did he? Then he shall have the chance.
Go back to the Moat House, Miss Parsh, and
send on Joe to the Good Samaritan.’
‘Why there of all places?’ asked the Rector.
‘ Because I am going to see Lestrange, and
force the truth out of him. There shall be an
end to all this devilment. He accuses me, does
he!’ cried Thorold, with an ugly look. ‘Let
him have a care lest I accuse him, and
prove my accusation, too, with the help of Joe
Brill.’
‘Joseph!’ cried Miss Parsh, quite at sea.
‘ What can he do ?’
‘ He can prove if Lestrange’s story is true or
false.’ -
‘Story, Mr. Alan! What story?’
‘ Never mind, Vicky,’ put in Sophy, catching
Miss Parsh’s arm. She saw that Alan was
growing impatient. ‘ Come back home, and


JOE’S EVIDENCE 2 33
we will send joe on to the inn. Come, you
look quite upset.’
‘And I am upset,’ wailed the poor woman.
‘I ran all the way to tell you that joseph had
returned—like a thief in the night,’ she added.
‘Oh, dear me! and I’m so hot and untidy. I
don’t like these dreadful things!’ Miss Vicky
suddenly caught sight of herself in an adjacent
mirror, and made a hasty attempt to arrange
her disordered dress. ‘Oh, what a spectacle
for a genteel gentlewoman to present! A
glass of wine, Mr. Phelps, I beg of you.’
The Rector poured out the wine in silence,
then turned to Alan.
‘ Shall I come with you?’
‘No, sir. joe and I are quite able to deal
with this brace of blackguards.’
‘Remember that Lestrange is a dangerous
man, Alan.’
‘SO am I,’ retorted the other grimly. ‘If I
happen to ﬁnd a whip handy, I don’t know
what I might be tempted to do.’
‘ But if Joe declares that Lestrange is
Sophy’s father ?’
‘He is not my father !’ cried Sophy. ‘His


234 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
story is a lie! I am the daughter of Richard
Marlow.’
‘Sophia! This man—your father !’ wailed
Miss Vicky. ‘ Oh dear, what is all this?’
‘ I’ll tell you when we get home,’ said the girl.
‘Alan, I will send Joe to the inn at once.’
And she led the weeping Vicky from the room.
‘Let me come, Alan. You will want a
witness.’
‘Joe will be witness enough,’ said the young
man decisively. ‘No, sir; better let me see
him alone; there may be rough work. Your
cloth ’
‘Deuce take my cloth!’ cried the Rector.
‘Bless me, may I be forgiven! My cloth
might keep the peace.’
‘I don’t want the peace kept,’ retorted
Thorold. ‘Unless that Creole Frenchman
apologizes, I’ll thrash him 1’
The Rector stared, and well he might. All
the well-bred composure had gone from Alan’s
face and manner, the veneer of civilization was
stripped off, and man, primeval man, showed
naked and unashamed. He stared back at the
clergyman, and for quite a minute the two


JOE’S EVIDENCE 237
‘ Catch him wetting himself!’ she said, leading
the way, with a sour smile. ‘ He’s a furrin’
jack'o-dandy, that he is. Not but what he
don’t pay reg’lar. But I see the colour of his
money afore my meat goes down his throat.
This is the door, sir.’
‘Very good. And, Mrs. Timber, should
joe Brill come, show him in here.’
‘ joe Brill !’ yelped the landlady, throwing up
her hands. ‘You don’t mean to say as he’s
back, Mr. Alan! Well, I never did! And I
thought he’d run away because of the murder.’
‘You think too much, Mrs. Timber. Some
day you will get yourself into trouble. Now
go, and don’t forget my orders.’
Chilled by the severity of his tone, Mrs.
Timber crept away, somewhat ashamed. Alan
knocked at the door, heard the thin voice of
Lestrange call out ‘ Entrez,’ and went in. The
man was lying on the sofa, reading a French
novel by the light of a petroleum lamp, and
smoking a cigarette. When Alan appeared,
he rose quickly into a sitting position, and
stared at his visitor. Of all men, the last he
had expected to see was the one he had so


238 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
basely accused. The thought ﬂashed into his
mind that Thorold had come to have it out
with him. But Lestrange, whatever his faults,
was not wanting in a certain viperish courage.
He rose to greet his enemy with a smile which
cloaked many things.
‘ Good-evening, Mr. Thorold,’ he said, with
a wary glance ; ‘ to what am I indebted for this
visit ?’
‘ You shall know that before long,’ replied
Alan, closing the door. He was now consider-
ably cooler, and had made up his mind that
more was to be got out of this man by diplomacy
than by blind rage. ‘ Have I your permission
to sit down ?’ he asked, with studied politeness.
‘ Certainly, my dear sir. Will you smoke ?’
‘ No, thank you.’
‘ Have some refreshment, then?’
‘ N 0, thank you.’
‘Ah!’ sneered Lestrange, throwing himself
again on the couch, ‘your visit is not so
amiable as I fancied. You come as my enemy.’
‘ Considering your behaviour, it would be
strange if I came as anything else.’
‘ My behaviour ?’


JOE’S EVIDENCE 2411.
‘Your word is enough,’ protested Lestrange.
‘ I was wrong to accuse you I’ ,
‘ Very wrong. You did it out of spite—’
‘ No, no ! I really believed ’
‘What you wished yourself to believe,’ in-
terrupted Alan in his turn. ‘ It was my inten-
tion to have given you a thrashing, Captain
Lestrange—’
‘Sir !’ the man started up white with rage.
‘ But I have changed my mind,’ pursued
Alan, without noticing the interruption. ‘I
now intend to take another course. If you do
not at once leave Heathton, I shall bring a
charge against you of defamation of character.’
‘Oh!’ Lestrange shrugged his shoulders.
‘You are a true English shop-keeper. A man
should protect himself by more honourable
means.’
‘I know very well what I am about, sir. I
wish to bring you into contact with the law.
For that reason—unless you go—I shall bring
the action.’
‘And what can the law do to me ?’ he asked
deﬁantly. ‘I have committed no wrong.’
‘You intend to. Oh! I know that you

16


CHAPTER XVIII
A PORTION OF THE TRUTH
JOE was not in the least changed. Wherever
he had been, in whatever nefarious transactions
he had been engaged, he was still the mahogany-
coloured, tough old sailor whom nothing could
surprise or alarm. After having greeted Le-
strange he hitched up his trousers in true
nautical style and touched his forehead.
‘ You wished to see me, sir,’ he said to Alan,
and took a sidelong glance at the Captain.
That polished scoundrel had, for once, lost his
coolness, and, colourless with rage, was glaring
at the seaman like a devil.
‘Joe,’ said the Squire, as soon as he could
take in the situation, ‘you are making a
mistake.’
‘Not me, sir! I knows a shark when I sees
’
one.
1 6—2


244 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘ But this is Captain Achille Lestrange.’
‘Curse me if he is !’ cried Joe vigorously.
‘Achille weren’t no Captain. This one’s a
Captain right enough, and a blazing ﬁne lobster
he is! Jean’s his name, sir, but he ain’t a
Scotch girl, for all that. No, it’s the French
lingo for John.’
‘I am Achille Lestrange,’ persisted the
Captain, very shrill and very short of breath.
‘ This man is a liar!’
‘Say that again, and I’ll knock the teeth
down your throat !’ growled Joe, like an
angry mastiff. ‘Achille be blowed! I know’d
you twenty year ago in the islands, I did, and
a bad lot you were then. Jean Lestrange—
why, there never was a wuss lot! I never
did think much of Achille, for all his money;
but you——’
Joe spat to show his disgust.
‘ Then this man is not Sophy’s father ?’ gasped
Alan.
‘ Oh, he sez that, does he, the lubber! Missy’s
father! Why, he ain’t ﬁt to be her shoeblack !’
‘Achille was the girl’s father,’ said Lestrange
sullenly. He saw that it was useless to lie in


A PORTION OF THE TRUTH 24.7
less made in the hope that she would accompany
him back to Jamaica, and would give him con—
trol of her money. Failing this—and Lestrange
had long since realized that there was no doing
anything With Sophy in a paternal way —there
remained the chance that, to preserve Marlow’s
memory from stain, she might buy his silence.
Thus Lestrange argued, and Alan, with his
eyes on the man’s expressive face, guessed his
thoughts and answered them.
‘ N o, Lestrange,’ he said, with decision,
‘you won’t get one penny.’
‘ We shall see about that,’ was the rejoinder.
‘Of course. We are going to see about it
now. You will be brought to your bearings,
sir. Joe, you say that this man is Jean Le-
strange ?’
‘ Yes, sir. But may I ask, Mr. Thorold,
how you know about the shark?’
‘I have heard the story from his own lips,
Joe. He claimed to be Achille Lestrange and
Miss Sophy’s father.’
‘ Did he, now, the swab! and you know, sir,
how Mrs. Lestrange ran away to Mr. Beau-
champ from the way her husband treated her?’


24.8 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
’

‘I know
‘Achille treated Zelia well,’ interrupted the
Captain ; ‘ only too well.’
‘ That’s another lie !’ retorted Joe. ‘ He was
fond-like of her the ﬁrst year they were married,
but it was you, Captain Jean, who made a mess
of them. You made him jealous of Mr. Beau-
champ, and he treated her crool. N o wonder
she ran away, poor lass!’
‘ Did the way Achille treated Zelia give
Beauchamp any right to murder him ?’
‘He didn’t murder him. You know he
didn’t.’ .
‘He did, I say. Achille was found stabbed
to the heart on the veranda of Beauchamp’s
house. Zelia was dead, and your master took
the child away to his yacht at Falmouth. You
were on board.’
‘Yes,’ said Joe coolly, ‘I wos; and it wos
well for you, Captain Jean, that I wasn’t near
the house that same evening. I’d ha’ wrung
your neck, I would! Anyhow, master didn’t
kill Munseer Achille.’
‘There was a warrant out for his arrest,
however.’


2 50 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘A shark like you, Captain Jean, ain’t got no
friends,’ remarked Joe sententiously.
‘ Do you think that Barkham’s letter caused
Mr. Marlow’s death ?’ asked Alan.
‘ Dol think it, sir? Why, I knows it! After
twenty years of hearing nothing, the shock, as
you might say, killed my master.’
‘ Then he was guilty, and my accusation was
a righteous one to make,’ chimed in Lestrange.
‘ A clean conscience fears nothing.’
‘ Mr. Beauchamp’s conscience was a darned
sight cleaner nor yourn, Captain Jean, but you
had the whip-hand of him, as all those in
Jamaica thought he’d murdered Munseer
Achille, from them quarrelling about him
coming after his wife. But master didn’t do
it—I swear he didn’t! More like you did it
yourself,’ added Joe, with a look of contempt,
‘though I dare say you ain’t man enough to
stick a knife into anyone.’
Alan thought for a few minutes, then turned
to Lestrange.
‘I think you must see that you have failed
all round,’ he said quietly. ‘ Your plot to pass
as Miss Marlow’s father is of no use now.


A PORTION OF THE TRUTH 251
The accusation against me is not worth con-
sidering, as I have shown. If necessary, I can
defend myself. On the whole, Captain Le-
strange, you had better go back to Jamaica.’
‘ Not without my price,’ said the adventurer.
‘Ah, blackmail! Well, I always thought
that was at the bottom of it all. A man with
clean hands and honourable intentions would
not have joined hands with a confessed rogue
like Cicero Gramp. But mayI ask on what
grounds you demand money?’
‘I can prove that Beauchamp killed my
cousin.’
‘What good will that do? Beauchamp is
dead, and beyond your malice.’
‘ Ay, that he is,’ said Joe approvingly.
‘ He’s gone where you won’t get him. I reckon
you’ll go the other way when your time comes,
you blasted swab!’
Lestrange, writhing under these insults,
jumped up and poured out a volley of abuse,
which the seaman bore quite unmoved.
‘ I’ll not go without my money,’ he raged,
‘and a good sum, too, otherwise I shall see the
girl ’


252 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘If you annoy Miss Marlow again, I’ll have
you arrested,’ said Alan sharply. ‘We don’t
permit this sort of thing in England.’
‘ I shall put the story of Beauchamp’s wicked-
ness in all the papers.’
‘As you please. It cannot harm the dead.’
‘And will that girl stand by and see her
father’s memory disgraced ?’
‘ You seem to forget,’ said Thorold, with
quiet irony, ‘that he was not Miss Marlow’s
father. Well, there is no more to be said. If
you make yourself a nuisance, the law shall
deal with you.’
‘And I’ll deal with him myself,’ said Joe.
‘ I’ll make them eyes of yours blacker than they
are by nature.’
‘ Leave him alone, Joe. He’ll go now.’
‘ I won’t go !’ cried the man. ‘ I’ll have my
price.’
Alan shrugged his shoulders.
‘ I shall have to give you that thrashing, after
all.’
‘ Let me do it, sir,’ put in Mr. Brill, who was
simply spoiling for a row, and he stepped
towards Lestrange.


A PORTION OF THE TRUTH 253
The man’s courage, genuine enough of its
kind, suddenly gave way before the ferocity of
the sailor. He sprang up, ran into an inner
room and bolted the door.
joe uttered the roar of a bafﬂed tiger.
‘Never mind, joe; we’re quit of him now.
He will leave Heathton.’
‘I’ll wait for him at the station,’ muttered
joe, following the young Squire out of doors.
"Tain’t right that the swab should get off scot-
free.’
Outside the rain had ceased. Alan looked
at his watch, and ﬁnding that it was late, turned
his face towards home. Suddenly he recollected
that joe had not explained his absence.
‘Well, joe, where have you been ?’ he asked
sharply.
‘ After him.’ joe pointed his thumb over his
shoulder. ‘When master’s body was carried
away, I thought that shark might have done it.
I know’d he was coming from jamaica, so I
went to Southampton to see when he arrived.’
‘You did not see him ?’
‘No,’ was the gloomy reply. ‘But I seed
the list of passengers in one of them boats,


2 54 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
and his name wos on it. He couldn’t have
done it !’
‘ I found that out myself. No; Lestrange is
innocent.’
‘If I’d know’d he wos on his way here to
make trouble with missy, I’d have waited,’ said
the sailor; ‘but I thought if I dropped across
him I’d keep him off.’
‘He stole a march on you, Joe. And you
have been at Southampton all this time ?’
‘ I have, sir—there and in London. But it’s
all right now, Mr. Alan. He won’t worry Miss
Sophy any more. But now you know, sir, why
I gave a sov. to that tramp. He talked about
one as sent him, and I thought he wos talking
of Captain Jean, so I hurried him away as soon
as I could, lest Miss Sophy should hear.’
‘ I understand, Joe. But Cicero knew nothing
at that time.’
‘ Ah 1’ Joe clenched his ﬁst. ‘ He’s another
as needs a beating. Beg pardon, sir, but I sup-
pose you ain’t found out who killed the doctor?’
‘ N o ; I believe myself it was that man Brown,
who was called the Quiet Gentleman. Do you
know who he was, Joe?’


A PORTION OF THE TRUTH 255
‘ No, sir, I do not,’ replied Joe doggedly.
‘Good-night, Mr. Alan,’ and he walked off in
great haste.
The young Squire pursued his way to the
Abbey Farm, and all the way wondered if Joe’s
sudden departure hinted at an unwillingness to
talk of Brown.
‘ I’ll ask him about the man to-morrow,’
muttered Alan.
But on the morrow he had other matters to
attend to. While he was at breakfast a card
was brought to him and he jumped up with a
joyful cry.
‘ Inspector Blair!’ he said, throwing down the
card. ‘Show him up, Mrs. Hester. Ah! I
wonder what he has found out.’


CHAPTER XIX
A REAPPEARANCE
‘I AM glad to see you, Blair. Sit down and
have some breakfast.’
‘Aha !’ The inspector rubbed his hands as
he looked at the well-spread table. ‘I never
say no to a good offer. Thank you, Mr.
Thorold, I will peck a bit.’
‘ You are looking well, Blair.’
‘ Never felt better in my life, Mr. Thorold.
I have good cause to look jolly.’
‘ Enjoyed your holiday, no doubt,’ said Alan,
as he assisted the ofﬁcer liberally to ham and
eggs. Where did you spend it?’
‘ In Brighton—pleasant place, Brighton.’
Blair looked so jocular, and chuckled in so
pleasant a manner that the Squire guessed he
had good news. However, he resolved to let
Blair tell his story in his own way.


A REAPPEARANCE 2 5 7
‘What took you to Brighton of all places?’
he asked tentatively.
‘ Well, you might guess. joe Brill took me.’
‘joe Brill?’
The inspector-nodded.
‘ I followed him there.’
‘But I have seen joe. He tells me he was
at Southampton and in London.’
‘N o doubt—a clever fellow joe. He knows
how to hold his tongue. Well, Mr. Thorold,
I hope your troubles about this matter of the
lost body will soon be at an end.’
‘Blair!’ Alan bent forward in a state of
great excitement. ‘ You have found out some-
thing about it ?’
‘Yes, enough to gain me a thousand pounds.’
‘ Not enough to gain you two thousand
pounds ?’
‘ No.’ Blair’s face fell. ‘ But I intend to
get that also. However, I have learned all
about the theft of Mr. Marlow’s body—how it
was removed, and why it was removed.’
‘ By jove ! How did you ﬁnd out?’
‘Through joe Brill. Somehow I suspected
joe from the ﬁrst. That sovereign he gave
I7


2 58 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
[2:2-
Cicero Gramp, you know—I always fancied
there was something behind his anxiety to get
that man away. So I had him watched, and
applied for leave of absence. When he left
Heathton I followed as a tourist,’ chuckled
Blair. ‘ Oh, I assure you, Mr. Thorold, I make
a very good tourist.’
‘And he went to Brighton ?’
‘ Yes, direct to Brighton. I went there
and found out all about it.’
‘You don’t mean to say that he stole the body !’
‘Ay, but I do, and with the best intentions,
too.’
‘Was he the short man Cicero Gramp saw
with Warrender ?’
‘ He was the short man,’ replied Blair, ﬁnish-
ing his coffee.
‘ Then, why did he not tell me ?’ Alan burst
out angrily. ‘ I saw him last night, yet he said
nothing. He knew how anxious Miss Marlow
is about the loss of her father’s body.’
‘ Not her father,’ corrected the inspector.
‘ Achille Lestrange was her father.’
‘What!’ Alan started from his seat. ‘You
know that ?’


A REAPPEARANCE 2 59
‘ I know all—the elopement in Jamaica; the
kidnapping of Marie Lestrange, whom we know
as Sophy Marlow ; the coming of Jean Le-
strange to blackmail the girl, and—and—all the
rest of it. You see, Mr. Thorold, I interviewed
Joe Brill this morning, and he told me all about
your conversation with that rascal. I am posted
up to date, sir.’
‘Joe Brill had no business to keep me in the
dark,’ said the Squire angrily. ‘ He should
have relieved my mind and Miss Marlow’s.’
‘ Miss Lestrange,’ hinted Blair.
‘ N o, sir—Sophia Marlow she is, and Sophia
Marlow she will remain until she changes her
name for mine. Her father is dead, and Jean
Lestrange has no claim on her. Sophia Marlow,
Mr. Inspector, if you please.’
‘Well, well — as you please. We shan’t
quarrel about a name. Have you anything to
smoke, Mr. Thorold ?’
Alan got him an excellent cigar, and returned
to the point.
‘Why did Joe keep me and Miss Marlow in
the dark ?’ he asked.
‘ Acted under orders, Mr. Thorold.’
17—2


260 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘ Whose orders ?’
‘ Mr. Marlow’s, or rather, I should say, Mr.
Beauchamp’s.’
‘ Blair !’
Alan gasped out the name. His face was
white and he was appalled at the news. For
the moment he believed the inspector must
have taken leave of his senses.
‘ Oh, I dare say your astonishment is natural,’
said the inspector, lighting his cigar. ‘I was
astonished myself to ﬁnd the dead man alive
and kicking. Yet I should not have been, for
I suspected the truth.’
Alan had not yet recovered from his amaze-
ment.
‘ You suspected that Mr. Marlow was alive!’
he said faintly. ‘ On what evidence ?’
‘ On circumstantial evidence,’ said Blair
smartly. ‘When I examined the cofﬁn with
Mr. Phelps I noticed what he did not. At the
sides small holes were bored in inconspicuous
places, and the shell of the leaden case was
pierced. Only one inference could be drawn
from this—that the man had designedly been
buried alive. The design must have been


A REAPPEARANCE 2 6 1
carried out by Warrender and the short man.
I suspected joe, from the fact of his having
given that sovereign to Cicero, and I watched
him. Presuming my belief to be correct, I made
certain that sooner or later he would rejoin
his master. As I say, he went to Brighton.
I followed close on his heels to a boarding-
house in Lansdowne Place. There I saw Mr.
Marlow.’
‘ Did he recognise you ?'
‘ Of course. While he was living at Heathton
I had seen Mr. Marlow several times on business.
He made no attempt when I saw him at Brighton
to disguise himself—not thinking, I suppose,
that his clever scheme to frustrate Lestrange
would come to light in this way.’
‘But, Blair, you did not know about Lestrange
then!’
‘True enough ; but I soon heard the whole
story. Mr. Marlow told it to me himself. As
you may guess, he was in a great way about
my having discovered him, and seeing no means
of evading the truth, he told it. I insisted
upon it, in fact ; and now I know all.’
‘And how did it come about ?’


A REAPPEARAN CE 26 5
what happened on the night Achille was mur-
dered. Moreover, he swore that he was inno-
cent, and I believe him. AS to Warrender, he
was a scoundrel, and I am sure that, like all
scoundrels, he has left a record of his villainies
in black and white. If this is so, I can prove
Marlow’s innocence, and he can defy Lestrange.’
By this time Alan and the inspector Were
walking along the road which led to Heathton.
It was a bright, sunny morning, and Alan was
in high spirits. How happy Blair’s news would
make Sophy!
‘And Warrender, what about his death?’
he asked. ‘Does Marlow know who killed
him ?’
‘ Strange as it may seem, he does not, Mr.
Thorold. He is as ignorant as you or I. That
death is a mystery still.’
‘But if Warrender was killed on the
heath ’
‘I can’t explain, Mr. Thorold. Hear Mar-
low’s story, and you will be as much in the
dark as I am. But I suspect Lestrange.’
‘So did I,’ replied Alan, speaking in the
past tense. ‘But I learned for certain that


268 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
panting woman. ‘I declare, Mr. Thorold, you
could ha’ knocked me down wi’ a feather when
I saw him.’
‘ Saw who ?’
‘ Why, Mr. Brown, sir—the Quiet Gentle-
man. He has come back !’


270 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
The two men stood looking at one another.
‘ Brown back again!’ said Alan. ‘ Now we
shall know the truth.’
‘ If he knows it,’ said Blair dryly—he was less
excited than his companion—‘ but I doubt if we
shall learn much from him, Mr. Thorold. If
he had anything to do with the murder, he
would not have come back.’
‘ But he must have something to do with
it, man! Have you forgotten that it was
he who stole the key of the vault from my
desk ?’
‘ No,’ said Blair pointedly, ‘ nor have I for-
gotten that he did not use the key. It was Joe
Brill who opened the vault.’
‘ Indeed! And where did Joe get the key?
Not from Mr. Phelps, for he still has his key.
Ha!’ cried Alan suddenly, ‘did Joe get it from
Brown ?’
‘No, he did not. The key was not used at
all. There was a third key in existence, of
which neither you nor Mr. Phelps were aware.
Marlow had had it made to provide against the
contingency which arose. He had always
resolved to feign death, should Lestrange track


272 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘I could do that certainly. Well, you go
and see him, Mr. Thorold, while I interview
Mrs. Warrender. I’ll call along at the cottage
later. You needn’t let Brown out of your sight
until I come.’
‘You’ll arrest him ?’
‘ If you wish it; I’ll take the risk.’
‘ Very good, I’m off!’ and with an abrupt nod
Alan ran down the lane. Blair looked after
him with a queer smile on his dry face. He
had his own ideas regarding the termination of
Alan’s attempt to make Brown the mysterious
speak out.
Mrs. Warrender was at home when the
inspector called. At ﬁrst she felt she could not
see him, for the idea of coming into contact
with the police was abhorrent to her. She
wondered if Blair could have discovered the
relationship which existed between herself and
Cicero, and it was her anxiety to ascertain this
which made her grant the inspector an interview.
If her brother were playing her false, the more
she knew about his plans the better would she
be able to frustrate them. Mrs. Warrender
was a capable woman, and had a genius for


AMAZEMENT OF ALAN THOROLD 273
intrigue. She was quite decided that she
could hold her own even against the trained
intelligence of a police ofﬁcer.
And so it came about that the gentleman in
question was shown into the drawing-room, a
meretricious, gaudy apartment, which betrayed
in furniture and decoration the tawdry taste Of
the doctor’s widow.
She came forward to receive him in an
elaborate teagown of pink silk trimmed with
lace, and, in spite of the early hour, She wore a
quantity of jewels. Blair had an eye for beauty,
and could not deny that this lady was a ﬁne
woman, though, perhaps, too much of the
ponderous type. He wondered why she did
not wear mourning. She could have cared but
little for her husband, he thought, to appear in
gay colours so soon after his untimely end. But,
in truth, Mrs. Warrender had never professed
to be an affectionate wife. She had married for
a home, and made no secret of it.
‘Good-morning,’ she said, with a Sharp glance
at Blair’s impassive face. ‘I understand that
you belong to the police, and that you wish to
see me—why, I cannot conceive.’
I8


274 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘If you will permit me to explain myself, I
will soon give you my reasons,’ said the in-
spector, in his best manner. ‘May I sit down?
Thank you. Now we can talk at our ease.’
‘I suppose it is about the sad end of my
poor husband,’ she said, in tones of grief, which
her gay attire somewhat belied. ‘Have you
found out the truth ?’
‘ No; but I hope to do so—with your
assistance.’
She looked up suddenly.
‘ If you think I killed the poor lamb, you are
mistaken,’ she said. ‘I can account for all my
actions on that night, policeman.’
This last was hurled at Blair with the object
of keeping him well in mind of her condescen—
sion in receiving him.
‘ I never had the slightest suspicion ,of you,’
he protested. ‘ My errand has to do with
quite a different matter. And might I
suggest,’ he added, a triﬂe testily, ‘that I am
usually addressed as Inspector Blair?’
‘Oh, of course, if you insist upon it 1’ she
cried, with a shrug. ‘ Inspector Blair—will
that do ?’


AMAZEMENT OF ALAN THOROLD 275
‘That will do very well, thank you.’ He
paused, and stared hard at the expensive tea-
gown and the aggressive jewellery until the
widow became restive. ‘Are you rich?’ he
asked abruptly.
‘What has that got to do with you?’ cried
Mrs. Warrender furiously. ‘Remember you
are talking to a lady !’
‘To a rich lady or to a poor one ?’
‘Upon my soul, this is too much! Mind
your business, Inspector Blair !’
‘This is my business,’ he retorted, keeping
himself well in hand. ‘I merely asked you
the question, because, if you are not rich, then I
come to make you so.’
‘ What do you mean?’
‘Answer my question ﬁrst: Are you rich?’
And he took another good look at the dress
and the jewels.
‘No,’ she said sullenly, ‘I am not. My
husband left me fairly well off, but not with so
much money as I expected.’
‘ Then you would not object to making some
more ?’
Her eyes lighted up with the ﬁre of greed.
18—2


278 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
Beauchamp amongst my business papers—my
husband’s papers, I should say. It was signed
and witnessed in New Orleans. It seems
Warrender was dying there, and wanted to tell
Mr. Beauchamp—Marlow, I mean—the truth,
so he had the confession drawn up by a lawyer.
Afterwards, when he got well, he did not
destroy it.’
‘ Beauchamp was innocent of the murder,
then ?’
‘ Yes. He knocked Achille Lestrange down,
but he did not kill him.’
‘ Aha! I thought so!’ chuckled Blair, rubbing
his hands. ‘ Who did ?’
Mrs. Warrender drew back, with a look of
cunning on her face.
‘ That’s tellings,’ said she, relapsing into the
speech of her people. ‘I don’t part with my
secret unless I get my price.’
‘ Name your price.’
‘ Two thousand pounds.’
‘ What !' cried the inspector. ‘ Two thousand
pounds for clearing the memory of a dead man!
My dear lady, ﬁve hundred is nearer the
mark.’


AMAZEMENT OF ALAN THOROLD 279
‘Two thousand,’ she repeated. ‘If Sophy
Marlow has the millions left by her supposed
father, she can well afford that.’
‘Humph ! We’ll see. I must speak to
Mr. Thorold ﬁrst. You have the confession ?’
‘ I have—safely put away. It was my
intention to have seen Sophy Marlow about it,
but I thought I’d wait.’
‘To see what price you could get?’ put in
Blair.
‘ Quite so. I’m a woman of business. If I
don’t get my price, I burn that confession.’
‘You dare not! I can have you arrested,
remember.’
She snapped her ﬁngers.
‘ Pooh !’ she said, ‘I don’t care for your
threats. This is my one chance of making
money, and I’m going to take it. Two
thousand pounds or nothing.’
‘ I’ll think it over,’ said Blair. ‘ I am to have
the refusal of that confession, mind.’
‘ What! Do you want to make money too ?’
‘Certainly,’ said Blair, with irony; ‘I am a
man of business.’
She laughed, and took leave of him in a very


AMAZEMENT OF ALAN THOROLD 281
and shaking. He knew that voice—he knew
what was coming.
With a laugh the Quiet Gentleman pulled off
his wig and beard.
‘ Don't you know me, Alan ?’ he asked.
‘ Richard Marlow!’ gasped Alan.
‘ Herbert Beauchamp,’ was the quiet reply.


CHAPTER XXI
THE STORY OF THE PAST
‘COME, Alan,’ said Beauchamp after a pause,
‘you need not be tongue-tied with astonish-
ment. I sent Blair on to tell you all that had
happened, so you must have known that I was
alive.’
‘Yes, yes—but your disguise,’ stammered
the young man. ‘I expected to see Brown.
You are not Brown, never could have been;
for when he was here, I have seen you and
him at the same time.’
‘ That’s all right, my boy. I was not Brown,
as you say, and who Brown was I know no
more than you do. But I am Brown now,’
with emphasis, ‘and Brown I shall remain until
I can show myself with safety as Richard
Marlow. Not that I intend to stick to that
name. No; if Blair is right, and that scoundrel


284r THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘Are you certain that the Quiet Gentleman
killed Warrender ?’
‘ N 0, because I did not see the blow struck-
I was insensible at the time—but it is a long
story, and to make things perfectly clear, I must
begin at the beginning. One moment, Alan.’
Beauchamp crossed to the door and turned the
key. ‘ I don’t want Mrs. Marry to come in.’
‘ She will hear your voice, and believing you
to be dumb—-—’
‘ I’ll speak low. Come nearer to this chair.
First tell me how Sophy is.’
‘Very well, but much cast down. She thinks
you are dead, and that your body has been
stolen. Oh, Beauchamp!’ cried Alan passion-
ately, ‘why did you not trust Sophy and me?
You would have spared us both many an un-
happy hour.’
‘ I wish now that I had told you, but I acted
for the best. I had little time for thought. I
expected daily that Lestrange would appear.
If I had only considered the matter rather
more—but there, it’s done and we must make
the best of it. Sophy’s tears will be turned to
smiles shortly—if, indeed, she still loves me,


THE STORY OF THE PAST 285
knowing that I am not her father,’ and the Old
man sighed.
‘You need have no fear on that score,’ said
Alan, with a faint smile. He was getting over
the ﬁrst shock of surprise. ‘Sophy would
have nothing to do with jean Lestrange,
although she half believed his story. She
always insists that you are her true father.
She will welcome you back with the greatest
joy.’
‘ She must welcome me secretly.’
‘Secretly—why? Should your innocence
be established, you would surely reappear as
Richard Marlow ?’
‘What! And have the whole story in the
papers? No, Alan, I shall spend the rest of
my life under my true name of Beauchamp,
and live on the two thousand a year I left
myself in my will. You and Sophy can marry
and take the rest of the money. I shall travel,
and take joe with me.’
‘Well, perhaps it is the best thing to do,’
said Thorold. ‘ But tell me, how was it that
the manager of the Occidental Bank reported
you dead ?’


286 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘Joe wrote to him by my order to say so.
When Joe came to me at Brighton and told me
how the death of \Varrender had complicated
matters, I was afraid lest I should be traced,
and perhaps accused of a second murder. So I
thought it best to put it about that I was dead,
and end all pursuit.’
‘If you had only trusted me, sir, all this
trouble would have been avoided. I merited
your conﬁdence, I think.’
‘I know—I know. Indeed, on that day
when I spoke to you of the probability that
my body would not be allowed to rest in its
grave, I had half a mind to tell you. But
somehow the moment passed. Even then I
had designed my plot of feigning death. It
was the only way I saw of escaping Le-
strange.’
‘Tell me the story from the beginning,’ said
Alan. ‘ I know only scraps.’
‘ The beginning was in Jamaica, Alan,’ said
Beauchamp sadly. ‘All this trouble arose out
of the love I had for Sophy’s mother. Poor
Zelia! if only she had married me, I would
have made her a good husband. As it was,


288 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
child, and asked me to take her away. Le-
strange had struck her, the beast! and she had
refused to live with him any longer. At ﬁrst
I hesitated, but she was in such a state of agony
that I consented to take her away from her
wretched life. I had to go ﬁrst to Falmouth
to fetch some things which I did not wish to
leave—I had sold my plantation some time
before, having made up my mind to leave
Jamaica. 50 we sailed, reached Falmouth in
safety, and I went to my estate, leaving Joe
Brill on board.’
‘Ah! that was why Joe could not say who
killed Achille ?’
‘Precisely. Joe knew little of the events of
that night; but he believed in me, and stood
by me like the noble, faithful fellow he is.
But to continue: Zelia arrived at my house
only to die ; worry and melancholy had brought
her to a low state of health, and she caught a
fever. On the very night Jean and her husband
came in pursuit she died. I had made all ar-
rangements to sail ; I had sold my estate, and
had sent the proceeds to England. It had
been my intention to have married Zelia when


290 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘Not from the effects of your blow?’ cried
Alan incredulously.
‘No. He had been stabbed to the heart
while senseless.’
‘ By whom—Warrender ?’
‘I don’t know. Warrender always swore
that his hands were clean of blood, and cer-
tainly he had no reason to murder Achille. I
suspected Jean, but Warrender told me that
Jean had been in Zelia’s room praying beside
the body. He advised me to ﬂy.’
‘Yes, yes ; but who killed Achille ?’
‘Well, I supposed it must have been a
negro whom Achille had brought with him—
a Zambo, called Scipio, who was devoted to
his mistress and who hated his master. On
hearing that Zelia was dead—knowing, as he
did, that her husband’s brutality had probably
had a good deal to do with it—he might have
stabbed Achille as he lay senseless on the
veranda. At any rate, Warrender said that he
found him dead when he came out. To this
day I don’t know who killed him. It must
have been either Warrender, Scipio, or Jean.
I am inclined to suspect Scipio. However, at


THE STORY OF THE PAST 293
the letter to Warrender, and he suggested that
I should feign death. I jumped at the idea,
made a will, allowing myself an income under
my true name of Herbert Beauchamp, got
another key of the vault fashioned from the
one which afterwards was taken to Phelps, and
took joe into my conﬁdence. Then Warrender
drugged me.’
‘ What did he give you?’ asked Alan. ‘ You
looked really dead.’
‘ I can’t tell you the name of the drug. He
said it was some vegetable preparation used by
the negroes. Then I died—apparently—and I
was buried. They had bored holes in the
cofﬁn, and that night, when you were all
absent, joe and Warrender took me out of the
vault and carried me to the but on the heath,
where Warrender revived me. It was while
he was doing this that he heard a noise, and
ran out. He never came back, and when I
was myself again we went out to ﬁnd his body.
He was quite dead, stabbed to the heart, and
lying some distance from the hut. Who killed
him I do not know.’
‘ But how did his body get into the vault ?’


294 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘Joe did it. After he had got me away, he
dragged the body into the hut, and next night
came back and took it to the vault. He put it
into the cofﬁn, never dreaming that anyone
would look for it there. Nor would they, and
all would have been well had it not been for
that man Cicero Gramp. He saw too much,
and——-’
He was interrupted by a sharp knock at the
doom


CHAPTER XXII
THE BEGINNING OF THE END
ALAN started to his feet at that imperative
summons. Had Beauchamp been overheard
by Mrs. Marry? Had his disguise been
penetrated. Had she brought someone 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. Adopt-
ing 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 new-comer proved to
be Blair.
‘How are you getting on, Mr. Thorold ?’ he
said, stepping through the door, which Beau-
champ locked behind him. ‘You know now


296 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
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 Le-
strange 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 stam-
mered.
‘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 1’
‘And for my freedom !’ said Beauchamp
excitedly. ‘ Oh to think of being free from
the horror which has hung over me all these


THE BEGINNING OF THE END 297
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. Un-
grateful 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.’


298 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘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 gaol-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
cheque?’
‘ 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


THE BEGINNING OF THE END 299
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. Beau-
champ, 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.


302 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
ship with Lestrange. He had no money; I
lent him a goodly part of your ﬁfty pounds,
Mr. Thorold, on an undertaking that I should
get half of what he received from Miss
Marlow.’
‘A very creditable bargain,’ remarked Alan
grimly; ‘but you invested your cash in a bad
cause, Mr. Gramp. I saw Lestrange last
night, and assured him that he would not get
one penny of the blackmail he proposed to
extort. I dare say, after my visit, he found
the game was up, and thought it advisable to
clear out. I should recommend you to do the
same.’
‘So should I,’ put in Blair signiﬁcantly, ‘ or
I’ll have you arrested as a vagabond without
proper means of support.’
‘I am a professor of eloquence and elocu-
tion!’ cried Cicero, his fat cheeks turning pale
at this stern hint. ‘You dare not arrest me;
and you, Mr. Thorold, will be sorry if you do
not employ me.’
‘ Employ you? In which way?’
‘To hunt Lestrange down.’
Alan shrugged his shoulders.


304 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
The tramp still hesitated, but Inspector Blair,
becoming impatient, snatched it out of his hand
and proceeded to read it aloud. It was a short
note to the effect that if the writer did not
receive a certain sum of money ‘ at once ’
(underlined), he would come down to Heathton
and ‘ tell all’ (also underlined) to Miss Marlow.
These few lines were signed, ‘0. Barkham.’
‘ Barkham !’ exclaimed Alan. ‘ That must be
the man who warned Beauchamp that Le-
strange was coming. I wonder what he
knows.’
‘ Humph!’ grunted Blair, putting the letter
into his pocket, ‘very likely he will be able to
tell us sufﬁcient to enable us to dispense with
Mrs. Warrender’s confession. I am not parti-
cularly anxious to pay her two thousand pounds
for nothing.’
‘ Two thousand pounds !’ wailed Cicero, with
his eyes starting out of his head. ‘ Oh, Clara
Maria! Has she got that out of you? My
own sister—my very own!’ wept the old scamp,
‘and she won’t go shares! Yet I offered to
work with her 1’ he ﬁnished.
‘I don’t think you’ll get a sixpence out of


THE BEGINNING OF THE END 305
her,’ said Alan; ‘a desire to grab money
evidently runs in your family. However, if
this letter turns out to be of any assistance in
clearing up these mysteries, I’ll see what I
can do.’
Mr. Gramp, seeing no other alternative, ac-
cepted this offer.
‘ When am I to get it?’ he asked sulkily.
‘When I choose,’ Alan replied tartly. ‘Go
back to the Good Samaritan, and don’t let me
catch you annoying your sister, or I’ll make it
hot for you!’ and he moved away, followed by
Blair.
Cicero shook his ﬁst at them, and spent the
rest of the day making futile guesses as to how
much they would give him. -
‘What’s to do now, Blair?’ asked Thorold
abruptly.
‘I shall pay Mrs. Warrender and get the
confession. You can take it to Mr. Beau-
champ and set his mind at rest.’
‘ And you—what will you do ?’
‘Catch the 6.30 train to London. I shall
go Straight to the address given in this letter’
—Blair tapped his breast-pocket—‘and see
20


306 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
Barkham, and,’ he added, ‘I shall see Le-
strange.’
‘Will he be with Barkham ?’
‘ I think so. He—Lestrange, I mean --went
away before he got this letter. It is likely
enough that he has gone to London to see his
accomplice.’
‘If Barkham were an accomplice, he would
not have written, warning Beauchamp of Le-
strange’s departure from Jamaica.’
‘It is on that point I wish to be clear,’
retorted Blair. ‘It seems to me that Bark-
ham is running with the hare and hunting
with the hounds.’
‘Well, I hope you’ll ﬁnd out sufﬁcient to
solve the mystery,’ said Alan, bringing the
conversation to a close; ‘but I confess I am
doubtful.’
The cheque duly written and safely deposited
in the inspector’s pocket, the two men set out
on their visit to Mrs. Warrender, who was
graciously pleased to accept the money, in
exchange for which she handed over the con-
fession. Alan and Blair read it on the spot,
and were greatly astonished at the contents.
A._. M _
- - “a,


THE BEGINNING OF THE END 307
Then the inspector hurried away to catch the
London train, and Alan set out for Mrs. Marry’s
cottage, taking with him the precious document.
Mrs. Warrender—fearful lest the cheque should
be stopped—left for London by a later train.
She had decided that she would cash it herself
the moment the bank opened the following
morning. Her business capacities were indeed
undeniable.
Alan returned home, tired out with the day’s
work, and was glad enough to sit down to
the excellent meal provided by Mrs. Hester.
But his troubles and excitements were not yet
over. Hardly had he ﬁnished his dinner when
a note from Sophy was brought in.
‘Come at once,’ she wrote; ‘Lestrange is
here.’
20—2


CHAPTER XXIII
ONE PART OF THE TRUTH
AFTER his interview with Alan, Captain Le-
strange had come to the conclusion that it
would be the best and wisest course to retreat
before the enemy. Alan knew much, Brill
knew more, and the two together might prove
too much for him. Moreover, since his design
of passing as Sophy’s father had been rendered
useless, it was not necessary that he should
remain in Heathton. Therefore, he paid his
account at the inn with money borrowed from
Cicero, and departed in hot haste before that
gentleman was afoot. It was not until he got
to the Junction that he began to wonder if he
was acting judiciously. It struck him that he
should have made at least one attempt to get
money out of Sophy.
For some time he pondered over this question,


ONE PART OF THE TRUTH 309
and ﬁnally decided to leave his baggage in the
junction cloak-room and steal back to Heathton
under cover of darkness. True, his accomplice
Barkham was waiting for him in London, but
he would not get much of a welcome from that
gentleman unless he brought money with him.
Moreover, after joe’s intimation that it was
Barkham who had warned Beauchamp of the
plot to hunt him down, Lestrange had had no
conﬁdence in him. But that Barkham knew
enough to be very dangerous, he would have
left him out of his calculations altogether. He
decided at last that he must get money out of
Sophy, bribe Barkham to return to jamaica,
and then deal alone and unaided with the
lucrative business of extracting further black-
mail. Having made up his mind to this course
of action, he loitered about at the junction until
he could with safety return to Heathton.
It was during this time that he had a surprise.
While lurking in the waiting-room, he saw Blair
arrive by a local train and catch the London
express. What could he be doing? Was he
hunting him down? The very idea terriﬁed
him, and he began to congratulate himself on


310 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
having remained at the Junction. Had he
known that Blair was now on his way to see
Barkham, he would have had still greater cause
for alarm. Matters were indeed coming to a
crisis, but Lestrange did not guess that the
crisis was so near at hand.
When he had seen the lights of the London
express disappear, he took his seat in a local
train, which was timed to leave shortly after
eight o’clock. On arriving at Heathton, he
left the station hurriedly, and stole through
deserted by-ways to the Moat House. Here
he asked for Miss Marlow, and sent in his
card, on which he had scribbled, ‘News of your
father.’ The lie, which was not all a lie, gained
him the interview he sought; but before seeing
him, Sophy sent off the note to Alan. Then
she induced Miss Vicky to retire, and received
her visitor alone in the drawing-room.
The Captain entered the room with a some-
what cringing air. His nerve was gone, and
with it a goodly portion of his courage. Miss
Marlow, on the contrary, was quite mistress of
herself and of the situation. She had heard
from Joe Brill, amongst other things, that this


ONE PART OF THE TRUTH 311
man was not her father, and she now felt no
fear of him. He was anxious and ill at ease,
like a culprit before a judge.
‘Good - evening, Captain Lestrange,’ said
Sophy, sitting very erect in her chair. ‘You
wish to see me, I believe. Why have you
come ?’
‘ To make reparation, Miss Marlow.’
‘ Oh,’ she said ironically, ‘then I am not
your daughter ?’
‘I expect you have heard as much from Joe
Brill,’ replied Lestrange, looking at her gloomily.
‘ No, you are not my daughter, but you are my
cousin, Marie Lestrange, although you choose
to keep your name of Sophia Marlow.’
‘ I keep the name of the man who has been
a father to me.’
‘ In that case, you should call yourself Beau-
champ,’ he retorted. ‘ May I sit down ? Thank
you. Well, I suppose you are wondering why
I have come to see you?’
She glanced at the card.
‘TO give me news of my father, I presume,’
she said. ‘Do you mean my real father?’
‘ NO, I mean the false one. Your real father


312 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
died long ago. He was murdered by Beau-
champ.’
‘ He was not!’ cried Sophy vehemently, and
started from her seat. ‘ I have heard the story
from Joe, and I know now why you came here.
But nothing will induce me to believe that he
killed my father. My mother ﬂed to him from
the cruelty of her husband, and you were at the
bottom of all the trouble.’
‘Yes,’ he cried ﬁercely, ‘I was! I loved
your mother dearly. She gave me up for
Achille, and I swore I would be revenged. I
sowed dissension between them. It was through
me that Zelia ﬂed with Beauchamp. Do you
think I am sorry for what happened? I am
not. I hated Achille; but he is dead. I hate
Beauchamp, for your mother loved him——’
‘And he also is dead,’ interrupted Sophy;
‘you cannot harm him.’
‘Are you so sure he is dead?’ sneered Le-
strange. ,
‘I saw his dead body !’ cried the girl, with
emotion.
‘You saw him in a state of insensibility,
brought about by Warrender’s devilish drugs !’


314 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
own I will leave Beauchamp, should he be
indeed alive, to the punishment of his con-
science.’
‘ What do you mean ?’
‘I mean that I want money. You are rich,
and you can pay me. Give me a thousand
pounds, and I will go away and never trouble
you again.’
‘I refuse !’ She walked up and down the
room in a state of great agitation. ‘If you
were certain that Mr. Beauchamp was alive—if
you were certain he had committed that crime,
you would not let him escape so easily.’
‘ I would ! I would! I am tired of the whole
business.’
‘No, no,’ insisted the girl; ‘I don’t believe
you. If I gave you money, I should only be
supplying you with the means to cause further
trouble. If my dear father—for I shall still
call him so—is alive, I will leave the matter in
his hands.’
‘ And hang him.’
‘And save him,’ retorted the girl ﬁrmly.
‘You can go, Captain Lestrange. I shall not
give you one penny !’


316 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
that her lover was beside her. So with deadly
hatred in his heart, he stole towards the door,
which was still open. On the threshold he
recoiled with a shrill cry of fear. Before
him stood Herbert Beauchamp, alias Richard
Marlow.
‘You—you here, after all ?’
Beauchamp, shutting and locking the door
after him, strode into the room.
‘Yes, I live to punish you, Jean Lestrange.
Hold him, Alan, while I speak to Sophy.’
The girl, with a pale face and staring eyes,
was looking at the man who had come back
from the grave. He approached and took
her hands.
‘My poor child !’ he said in caressing tones,
‘ do not look so alarmed! I am ﬂesh and blood.’
‘You are alive, father?’ gasped Sophy,
amazed and somewhat terriﬁed.
‘Yes.’ He kissed her. ‘ I feigned death to
escape from this man. Come, Sophy, have
you no welcome for me? It is true that I am
not your father ; but—after all——-’
‘You are as dear to me as ever !’ she cried,
putting her arms round his neck. ‘You are


THE OTHER PART OF THE TRUTH 323
have that two thousand a year. I shall take
my departure from Mrs. Marry’s as the Quiet
Gentleman, and appear in London as Herbert
Beauchamp. You can join me there, and we
can go on our travels.’
‘But what about me?’ cried poor Sophy,
who had found her adopted father only to lose
him again.
‘ You shall marry Alan.’
‘But I want you to be at the wedding,
father.’
‘ I shall be at the wedding, child, and I shall
give you away.’
Alan looked at him in surprise.
‘Then you will be recognised, and the whole
story will come out.’
‘So it would if you were married here,’
answered Beauchamp composedly. ‘But the
wedding must take place in London. Can’t
you see, Alan, that Sophy must be married to
you under her true name—Marie Lestrange ?’
‘ Oh, must I ?’ cried the girl in dismay.
‘I think so; otherwise I doubt if the mar-
riage would hold good.’
‘You are right,’ said Alan, after a pause.
21—2


330 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
warned Mr. Beauchamp that Lestrange was
coming.’
‘Quite so; but you did not tell him that
Lestrange was masquerading as a dumb man in
Heathton.’
‘What!’ cried Alan and Sophy in one breath.
‘ Was Lestrange the Quiet Gentleman?’
‘Yes,’ replied Blair, with triumph. ‘He
confessed as much to Barkham here. That
was why he wore the gray wig and beard and
assumed dumbness—oh, a most effective dis-
guise; quite a different person he made of
himself! He came down to keep a watch on
you, Mr. Beauchamp, in order to plunder you
when he thought ﬁt. Your unexpected death
took him by surprise and upset his plans.
Then Barkham, as Jean Lestrange, arrived at
Southampton, and our Quiet Gentleman dis-
appeared from his rooms here, to reappear
from London in his own proper person, as Cap-
tain Jean Lestrange. No wonder that, with so
carefully-prepared an alibi, we did not guess
it was he who had been masquerading here.’
‘ Ha!’ exclaimed Alan, ‘and he stole the key
of the vault?’


332 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
‘Lestrange,’ he said, ‘did not believe that
Mr. Beauchamp was dead. He heard Mr.
Thorold say something to the Rector about
the key of the vault ’
‘God bless me!’ cried Phelps, ‘so you did,
Alan.’
‘ Yes,’ said the little man, nodding, ‘ then he
stole the key. He sent for the doctor to ask
him about the burial. The doctor came, but
Lestrange was out.’
‘ Did Warrender recognise him ?’ asked Beau-
champ abruptly.
‘No, sir, he did not—at least, not then.
Well, Lestrange waited and waited to enter
the vault. When he went at last he found
Warrender and another man taking the body
out. He followed them to the but on the
heath; he tried to look in, and he made a slight
noise. Warrender came out, and in the moon-
light he recognised Lestrange, who turned to
run away, but the doctor caught him and they
struggled. Then Lestrange, knowing that he
would be arrested for the murder of Achille
in Jamaica, stabbed the doctor to the heart.
Terriﬁed at what he had done, he lost his head,


THE OTHER PART OF THE TRUTH 335
traced to Southampton, but there the trail was
lost, much to the disappointment of Inspector
Blair, who, although he duly received the two
thousand pounds, never ceased to regret the
man’s escape. Alan paid him the reward
gladly, for without him the mystery would
never have been solved, and Mr. Beauchamp’s
innocence would never have been established.
Sophy and Alan were married in the presence
of the ex-millionaire and of Miss Vicky. After
the ceremony, the former left England with
Joe. He bought a small yacht, in which he
and his faithful servant sail the waters of the
Mediterranean. N 0 one has ever guessed the
truth.
Mrs. Marry continues to lament the loss of
the Quiet Gentleman, but she has always
believed him to have been one and the same
person. That Mr. Beauchamp was the second
representative of the part, she never dreamed.
Mr. Marlow is dead to the Heathton vil-
lagers, and to this day they talk of the mystery
which surrounded the disappearance of his
corpse—indeed, the vault has the reputation
of being haunted.


336 THE MILLIONAIRE MYSTERY
Barkham left England with his ﬁfty pounds,
and Mrs. Warrender returned to America with
her two thousand and her many jewels. There
she married a Canadian doctor, and vanished
altogether. Cicero received a small sum, and
now spends his time frantically hunting for
Clara Maria, in the hope of extorting a
share of her money; but Clara Maria is a
clever woman, and he is not likely to come
across her.
Sophy and Alan are supremely happy in
their life at the Abbey Farm. They make
frequent trips to the Continent, where they
meet Mr. Beauchamp.
Miss Vicky, too, is happy. She has Sophy’s
son and heir to care for, and what more can
she want ?
‘The heir to millions,’ says the old lady,
‘and what a mystery there was about it all!
To this day, I don’t understand everything.’
"‘Few people do,’ is Alan’s reply. ‘The
millionaire’s mystery will always remain a
mystery in Heathton.’

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The Gun unner. The Kin 'l Aucgai.
Luckoﬂienrdkidgeley. Benrh. unnlng'rQucIt.
By J. E. MUDDOCK.
Maid Marian and Robin Hood. Golden Idol.
Build the Jelter. | Young c vnr.
By D. CHRISTIE MURRAY.
A Lii'c'l Atonement. The “by ol the World.
Joseph's Coat. BobMart-in'l Little Girl
Curtis 01 Yire.
Old Binzcr‘r Hero.
Val Strange. l Helm.
A Model Father.
By the Gate of the See.
A Bit of Human Nature.
First Person Singular.
Cynic Fortune.
AY
By MURR
The Bin 0 1‘ Bible.
One Treve ler Returnl.
Time'l Bevengcl.
A Waited Crime.
In Direlt Peril.
Mount Delpnir.
A Cuprul c' NAIII.
Tale: in Prose d: Verlc
A Race (or Milliona
This Little World.
Tm: PrccAnlLLY (3/6) NOVELS—canlilmtd.
By E. OLANVILLE.
The Lclt Bclreu. The Golden Rock.
fair Colonirt | rollickch Tale: lrom the Void.
J. OODMAN.
B E.
The fate oiy Herbert lene.
By Rev. 5. BARING GOULD-
Iled Spider. ve.
CECIL (IRIFFITH. —Corinthln Maruicn.
By A. CLAVERING GUNTER.
A Florida Enchantment.
By OWEN HALL.
The Truck 0! a Storm. | Jotnm.
B COSMO HAMILTON
Glamour oI'Imyonible. | Throu h a Keyhole.
By THOMAS HA DY.
Under the Greenwucd Tree.
B BRET HARTE.
A Wall or the lrlnr. A Pratt-goo at Jack
A Ward cl the Golden Buniin'r.
Gate. (Spring;
A Sup 0 oi Green
Col. Starbottle‘l Client.
Bul . l y Dowr.
BelEBin or of Angel'l.
Devil'r Ford. [celrior.'
The Cruude cl the ' Ex»
Three Partners.
Talon of eilund Town Gabriel Conroy.
By JU LIAN hAWTHORNE.
Garth. l but. Beltrlx Iiandolph.
Elllee Quentin, David Polndextor'l Db
Bobcat-inn Etromc. appearance.
Fortune'l fool. Spectre of Camera.
By Slr A. HELPS. ‘_1Vlii do Biron.
By I. HENDERSON.—- athn Page.
By (I. A. HENTY.
Dorothy‘l Don le. l The Queen's Cup,
By HEADON HILL.
Zumbrl. the Dltectivl.
By JOHN HILL. The Common Ancestor.
By TIGHE HOPKINS.
Twin 1-0" Ind DMY- I Nu out: at Curriconna.
The Incomplete A venturer.
VICTOR HUGO.—The Outlaw 01 Iceland.
FERGUS HUME.—Lndy from Nowhere.
By Mrs. HUNGERFORD.
A Mental Strn zlc. A Maiden all Forlorn.
Ludy Verner'l light. The Coming 0! Chloe.
The R8d<HOlld lllyltery Nora Crolnn.
The Three Graces. An Anxious Moment.
Profcucr‘l Experimch April's Lady.
A Point of Conlcience. Peter's Wife. I Lovice.
B Mrs. ALFRED HUNT.
The Lee on Casket. Sou-Condemned.
That Other Pcrlon. I Mrl. Juliet.
By C. J. CUTCLIFFE I'IYNE.
Honour ci’ Thievol.
By R- ASHE KlNGb—A Drawn Guns.
B GEORGE LAMBERT.
The Prnl ant oi’ Boravia.
By EDMOND LEPELLETIER.
Medan Sans-Gene.
By ADAM LILBURN.'A Tragedy inMnrblc
By HARRY LINDSAY.
Rhoda Roberts. The Jacobite.
By H ENRY W. L CY.—Gidoon rloyce.
By E. LYNN LINTON.
Patricio Kemboll. The Atonement ochl-m
Under which Lord? Dun an.
The One Too Many.
' My Lovel' | Icne.
Paton Cnrew. Dulcie Evortcn.
Sowing the Wind. Rebel of the Family.
All Octave oi Friends.
With a silken Thread.
The World Well Lolt.
By .I USTIN MCCARTHY.
A Fair Saxon. Donna Quixote.
Llnley Bochlord. Maid of Athens.
Dear Lady Dimin- The Comet of 1 Season.
Gemini]. The Dictator.
Water-dale Neighbourl. Bed Diamonds.
1 The Riddle hing.
lly Snemy'l Daughter.
Iill Misanthropc.
The Three Dismal.
and HERMAN.
Paul Jone" Alma.
By HUME NISBET.-‘llhililpl‘
By w. E.
Still! Ann's.
Hill
A Weird Gilt
NORR S
| Billy 3.11.6.
Went'orth'l Idea.
By (1. OH N '
| Love's Depths,
By Mrs.‘0L|PHANT--The Sorcerell.
By OUIDA.
Held in Bondage. I
strathmore. | Chanda.
Under Two Fla-gr.
Idalia. [ age.
Cecil Cutlomaine'l
Tricotrlu. | PINK.
Polio Farina.
A Dog or Handel-l.
Pucurel. | Blgnn.
Princes! anrnxine.
Two Wooden Sheer.
In a. Winter City.
Friendship.
Moth. | Ruﬂlno.
Yipyirtrelio. I Ariadne.
A illagc Commune.
Bimbi. | Wanda.
Protocol. 1 Otlmla-r.
In Maremmu.
Byrlin. l Gullderoy.
Santa Barbara.
Twa Oifenderl.
The Water: of Ellen.
By MARGARET A. PAUL.
Gentle and Simple.
By JAMES PAYN.
Lost Sir Musingberd.
A County Family.
Lela Black than We're
Painted.
A Conﬁdential Agent.
A Bra 0 from a. Them.
In Po land Privaticu.
M ltery o! Mirbridgc.
ulter'l Word.
Hi 11 Spirits. By Pro
\‘VI L
The Talk of the Town.
Holiday Tasks.
For Cash Dnl .
The Burnt llion.
The Word and the Will.
Bunny Stories.
A Trying Patient.
A Modern Dick Whit‘
tingmn.
xy.
PAYNE-deny the Dreamer.
y Mrs. CAMPBELL PRAED.
Outlaw and Lawmaker.
Christina Chard.
Mrl. Tregnskiss.
Nulmn. I Madame Inn.
By B. c. PRICE
Valentine. | Foreigners.
I Mrs. Lanc‘utcr'l Rival.
By RICHARD PRYCE.
Mia: Maxwell's Aﬂecticne.
y Mrs. J. H. RIDDELL
A Rich Man's
|
By AMELIE RIVES.v
Weird Stories.
Barbara Donn .
Lughtu.
I .
Mariel.
B in w. ROBINSON.
The Hamiqu Jultice.
|Womanlntth
ark.