"Barkham!" exclaimed Alan. "That must be the man who warned Beauchamp that Lestrange was coming. I wonder what he knows."
"Humph!" grunted Blair, putting the letter into his pocket, "very likely he will be able to tell us sufficient to enable us to dispense with Mrs. Warrender's confession. I am not particularly anxious to pay her two thousand pounds for nothing."
"Two thousand pounds!" wailed Cicero, with his eyes staring out of his head. "Oh, Clara Maria! Has she got that out of you! My own sister--my very own!" wept the old scamp, "and she won't go shares! Yet I offered to work with her!" he finished.
"I don't think you'll get a sixpence out of her," said Alan; "a desire to grab money evidently runs in your family. However, if this letter turns out to be of any assistance in clearing up these mysteries, I'll see what I can do."
Mr. Gramp, seeing no other alternative, accepted this offer.
"When am I to get it?" he asked sulkily.
"When I choose," Alan replied tartly. "Go back to the Good Samaritan, and don't let me catch you annoying your sister, or I'll make it hot for you!" and he moved away, followed by Blair.
Cicero shook his fist at them, and spent the rest of the day making futile guesses as to how much they would give him.
"What's to do now, Blair?" asked Thorold abruptly.
"I shall pay Mrs. Warrender and get the confession. You can take it to Mr. Beauchamp and set his mind at rest."