"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.
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 illustrated paper in Jamaica, which gave a portrait of the famous South African millionaire, Richard Marlow. The face had on its right cheek a jagged scar. Jean gave that scar to Beauchamp 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."