"I say nothing of the sort," replied the Captain, nettled by her open contempt, "yet he may have done so, for all I know. But I state only what I can prove."
"You cannot prove this ridiculous charge?" cried the Rector. "Mr. Thorold is incapable of such a crime."
"Ah!" drawled the other coolly, "you see, Mr. Thorold is scientific, and does not look upon his deed as a crime."
"What do you mean by that?" asked Mr. Phelps sharply.
"I mean that Mr. Thorold was once a medical student--at least, I have been told as much."
"It is true, quite true," said Sophy, opening her eyes, for in her innocence she did not see what the man meant. But the Rector did, and winced. He anticipated the accuser.
"You mean that Mr. Thorold stole the body for scientific purposes?"
"For dissection--yes. Mr. Thorold is, I understand, an enthusiast in surgery. Marlow--or, rather, I should say, Beauchamp--died of an obscure disease, and Warrender and Thorold removed the body to hold a post-mortem on it. They were the men seen by Cicero Gramp--you see, I know all about it. They probably carried the body to the moor hut to dissect it. Whether they quarreled or not, I do not know, nor do I know if it was Thorold who killed the doctor. All I say is, that those two stole the body."
"Oh, indeed!" remarked Mr. Phelps ironically, "and Thorold put the remains of Dr. Warrender back in the vault, I suppose? And what did he do with Marlow's body?"
"I don't know. Buried it on the moor, very likely."