"It is no jest, sir, but, I fear, a grim reality. This man comes from Jamaica."
"Dear me! Marlow came from Jamaica. Does he know----"
"He knows all Marlow's past life."
"The dev--ahem! God forgive me for swearing. And who was Marlow?"
"According to Lestrange, a murderer."
Phelps dropped his cigar and stared at his old pupil.
"Alan, are you mad?"
"No. At the present moment I am particularly sane. This man says that Marlow was a murderer, and he himself claims to be Sophy's father. Take some green Chartreuse, Mr. Phelps, and I'll tell you all about it."
The Rector's nerves had received such a shock at the abrupt way in which Alan had told his news that he very willingly poured himself out a liqueur. Then he relighted his cigar, and signed to the young man to proceed.
"If I must hear it!" sighed he. "Such a pity, too, when I was so comfortable. Ah! Man is born to trouble. Go on, my dear lad!"