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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 something 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 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 tomorrow.’

      ‘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 investigate 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.’

      ‘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. If I 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 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, determining, nevertheless, to keep an eye on Joe. 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 circumstances—’

      ‘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. Today I 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.

      ‘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 KEY

      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 Timber’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; 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 respectable 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 Warrender—you say she has disappeared?’

      ‘Eh, yes.’ Mr Phelps wiped his bald head vigorously. ‘I went to break the news to her after you had gone to see Sophy, and I found she had left for London.’

      ‘London? Why London?’

      ‘That is just what I wanted to know, my dear Alan. It seems she received last night a letter which threw her into a state of great excitement. She was bad enough that way, as it was, the servant said; but this letter, it appears, drove her into a perfect frenzy.’

      ‘Do you know what was in the letter?’

      ‘I asked that—oh, trust me, Alan, to be precise

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