CHAPTER XXII. HE 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 some one 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. Adopting 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 newcomer proved to be Blair.

"How are you getting on, Mr. Thorold?" he said, stepping through the door, which Beauchamp locked behind him. "You know now 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 Lestrange 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 stammered.

"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!"

"And for my freedom!" said Beauchamp excitedly. "Oh to think of being free from the horror which has hung over me all these 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. Ungrateful 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."

"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 jail-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 check?"

"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 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. Beauchamp, 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.

Alone again, Beauchamp fell on his knees and thanked God that his innocence was about to be vindicated. For years he had lived in dread of discovery; now he was about to be relieved of the nightmare.

Talking as they went of the strange and unexpected turn the Case, as Blair called it, had taken, the two men walked through Heathton and out on to the country road. On turning down a quiet lane which led to the Abbey Farm, they saw a ponderous man behaving in a most extraordinary manner. He danced in the white dust, he shook his fist at the sky, and he spun round like a distracted elephant. Blair's keen eye recognized him at once.

"Very pretty, Mr. Cicero Gramp," he observed dryly. "Are you in training for a ballet-dancer?"

The man stopped short, and turned a disturbed face on them.

"I'll be even with him!" he gasped, wiping his streaming forehead. "Oh, the wretch! oh, the Judas! Gentlemen, proceed, and leave an unhappy man to fight down a whirl of conflicting emotions. E pluribus unum!" quoted Cicero, in a pathetic voice; "that is me--Ai! Ai! I utter the wail of Orestes."

"And, like Orestes, you seem to be mad," observed Alan, as the fat man returned to his dancing.

"And no wonder, Mr. Thorold. I have lost thousands. Lestrange----"

Cicero could say no more. He was choked with emotion, and gave vent to his feelings by shaking his fist at the sky.

"Ah," said Blair, who had been taking in the situation, "Lestrange! You have found a cleverer villain than yourself."

"He has gone away!" roared Cicero, with the voice of an angry bull. "Yes, you may look. He went this morning, bag and baggage. I don't know where he is, save that he roams the wilderness of London. And my money--he paid his bill to mine hostess of the hostel with my money!"

"The deuce he did!" said Alan. "And how did you come to lend him money?"

"I do not mind explaining," said Mr. Gramp, with a defiant glance at the gentleman who represented the police. "I went into partnership 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 elocution!" 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.

"I do not wish to see the man again."

"But I know something about him. Promise to pay me some money, and I'll show you a letter written to Captain Lestrange, which came to the inn after he left. I took it and opened it to find out his plans."

"Well, you are a scoundrel!" said Alan, looking Mr. Gramp's portly figure up and down. "By opening another person's letter you have placed yourself within reach of the law."

"I don't care!" cried Cicero recklessly. "I am desperate. Will you pay me for a sight of that letter?"

"Yes," said the inspector before Alan could reply, "if it is worth paying for. On the other hand, you could be arrested for opening it. Come, the letter!"

Cicero produced the document in question, and kept firm hold of it while he made his bargain.

"How much, Mr. Thorold?"

"If it proves to be of use," replied the young Squire leisurely, "I'll pay you well. Leave the amount to me."

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, "O. Barkham."

"Barkham!" exclaimed Alan. "That must be the man who warned Beauchamp that Lestrange 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 particularly anxious to pay her two thousand pounds for nothing."

"Two thousand pounds!" wailed Cicero, with his eyes staring 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!" he finished.

"I don't think you'll get a sixpence out of 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, accepted 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. Beauchamp 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 Barkham, and," he added, "I shall see Lestrange."

"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 Lestrange's departure from Jamaica."

"It is on that point I wish to be clear," retorted Blair. "It seems to me that Barkham 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 check 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 confession. Alan and Blair read it on the spot, and were greatly astonished at the contents. 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 check 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."