"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 communicate with this--what does he call himself?--Cicero Gramp, at Dixon's Rents, Lambeth. He can be arrested there, if necessary. What 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? 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 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 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 not disguise the feeling. "Wait till we get to Heathton--wait," and he hastily left the room.
Miss Vicky was surprised at his agitation, for hitherto she had credited Alan with a will strong enough to conceal his emotions. The old lady hurried away to the packing, and shook her head as she went.
Shortly they were settled in a first-class carriage on the way to Heathton. Sophy was suffering acutely, but did all in her power to hide her feelings, and, contrary to Alan's expectations, hardly a word was spoken about the strange letter, and the greater part of the journey was passed in silence. At Heathton he put Sophy and Miss Vicky into a fly.
"Drive at once to the Moat House," he said. "To-morrow we shall consider what is to be done."
"And you, Alan?"
"I am going to see Mr. Phelps. He, if any one, will know what value to put upon that letter. Try and sleep, Sophy. I shall see you in the morning."
"Sleep?" echoed the poor girl, in a tone of anguish. "I feel as though I should never sleep again!"
When they had driven away, Alan 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."
"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. "However, 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 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."
"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 possession?"
"Yes, of course, locked in my safe. Your question is most extraordinary."
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 hurriedly, and finally dropped the letter with a bewildered air. "Bless me, Alan!" he stammered. "What--what--what----"
Thorold