"Mr. Thorold had not the key of the vault," cried Sophy indignantly. "It had been stolen by the Quiet Gentleman."
"So I understand," retorted Lestrange sharply. "And who says so? Mr. Thorold himself. Believe me, sir," he turned to the Rector, "that key was never stolen. Thorold had it in his pocket. He lied about that for his own safety."
"I don't believe it," said Mr. Phelps decisively. "Thorold was at Bournemouth on the night the crime was committed."
"I know he was!" cried Sophy, with emphasis. "He was with me and Miss Parsh."
"You are wrong, both of you. He came back to Heathton on that night, and returned to Bournemouth before dawn. I understand it is only an hour's journey from here."
"It is not true," insisted Sophy uneasily. "I saw Mr. Thorold at eight o'clock that night at the Soudan Hotel."
"I dare say. But at ten o'clock he was at Heathton."
"How can you prove that?"
"If you will permit me," said Lestrange, and rising, he left the room.
Before Mr. Phelps and Sophy could exchange a remark, he was back again with a man who had evidently been waiting.