"I mean what I say," repeated the girl, in a low, fierce voice. "We must avenge my father. When the wretch is caught and hanged, then I'll marry you, Alan."
"Sophia, a marriage under such circumstances----"
"Miss Parsh," cried Sophy, turning on the meek old maid, "do you think I can sit down tamely under this insult to the dead? My father's body has been carried off. It must be found again before I marry--before I can think of marriage, Alan."
"Sophy is right," cried Thorold, drawing the girl to him and kissing her. "She is right, Miss Parsh. I swear also that I will devote my life to solving this mystery. Your father's body shall be brought back, Sophy, and the murderer of Dr. Warrender shall hang. Good-bye, dear. To-day I go to London. The first step towards the discovery of this crime will be to see Cicero Gramp. He may supply the clue."
"Yes, yes. Bribe him; pay him anything, so long as you get at the truth."
Alan kissed the girl again, and then left the room. Before he started, he intended to see the Rector and the local inspector of police. As he stepped out on to the road, he noticed Phelps coming along in the hot sunshine. The little parson was puffing and blowing and wiping his forehead.
"Alan! Alan!" he called out in short gasps as he came within speaking distance. "She's gone! She's gone to----"
"She! Gone! Who's gone? Where?"
"Why, Mrs. Warrender! She's disappeared. Oh, dear me; how terrible all this is! Whew!"