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.
"No, not to him. He is a mysterious person," said Miss Vicky. "I do not like such people, though I dare say it is only village gossip which credits him with a strange story."
"Just so," put in Alan. "Don't trouble about him."
Miss Vicky was still discussing the possibility 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 dubiously. "Had he a loud voice, Simmonds?"
"As big as a bell, miss, and he spoke beautiful: 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 the elaborate writing.
"Miss" (it began),
"The undersigned, if handsomely remunerated, can give valuable information regarding the removal of the body of the late Richard Marlow from its dwelling in Heathton Churchyard. Verbum dat sapienti! Forward £100 to the undersigned at Dixon's Rents, Lambeth, and the information will be forthcoming. If the minions of the law are invoked the undersigned with vanish, and his information lost.
"Faithfully yours, Miss Sophia Marlow,
"Cicero Gramp."
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 determined to go at once to the Moat House. He found Sophy recovered from her faint, and on hearing of his decision, she insisted upon accompanying 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."
"If it is not, why should that man have written? 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 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
