"A fat man--a tramp--a reciter. I saw him at Bournemouth. He delivered that letter at the hotel himself; the waiter described him, and as the creature is a perfect Falstaff, I recalled his face--I had seen him on the parade. I went at once to see if I could find him, but he was gone."
"A fat man," said the Rector. "Humph! He was at the Good Samaritan the other night. I'll tell you about him later."
The two trudged along in silence and knocked up Jarks, the sexton, on the way. They had no difficulty in rousing him. He came down at once with a lantern, and was much surprised to learn the errand of Rector and squire.
"Want to have a look at Muster Marlow's vault," said he in creaking tones. "Well, it ain't a bad night for a visit, I do say. But quiet comp'ny, Muster Phelps and Muster Thorold, very quiet. What do ye want to see Muster Marlow for?"
"We want to see if his body is in the vault," said Alan.
"Why, for sure it's there, sir. Muster Marlow don't go visiting."
"I had a letter at Bournemouth, Jarks, to say the body had been stolen."
Jarks stared.
"It ain't true!" he cried in a voice cracked with passion. "It's casting mud on my 'arning my bread. I've bin sexton here fifty year, man and boy--I never had no corp as was stolen. They all lies comfortable arter my tucking them in. Only Gabriel's trump will wake 'em."
By this time they were round the Lady Chapel, and within sight of the tomb. Phelps, too much agitated to speak, beckoned to Jarks to hold up the lantern, which he did, gram bling and muttering the while.