"Do not let us waste any more time," he said impatiently. "Hear my confession, as you may call it, and judge for yourself." He paused, passed his hand across his forehead, and in a moment or so continued, "My name is Lucas Lovel, as you know, and I came down here some eight or ten months ago to sketch and paint. Who I am I knew no more than yourself until three weeks ago."
"About the time of the murder?" interjected Mexton.
"Yes," assented Lovel, bending his head. "There was a mystery about my birth. I did not know where I was born, or who were my father and mother. I was brought up by an old maiden aunt in London, and she resolutely refused to tell me about my parentage. I was educated at an excellent school, and as I wished to be an artist I was sent to the studio of a celebrated painter to study. Afterwards I went abroad, to Paris and Rome, whence I was recalled two years ago by the death of my guardian. By her will I inherited her house in Clapham, and some two hundred pounds a year--enough to keep me from starving, but not enough to give me the luxuries of life. About a year ago I became acquainted with Catinka and her mad schemes for freeing Poland. At her house I met Herne."
"You met Herne?" echoed Paul, much interested.
"I did; and I thought he was as mad in his own way as Catinka was in hers. However, we became friends, and he asked me down to Barnstead. As you are aware, I stayed with him for some time; but we quarrelled because I admired Miss Lester too much, and I left his house to take up my abode in these rooms, where I have been since. It was my love for Milly which kept me here, in this dull neighbourhood."
"I know; but it would have been more honourable had you gone," said Mexton, reprovingly.
"Why--because the girl I loved was engaged to a religious lunatic?" cried Lovel, his pale face growing red with anger. "It was for that very reason I stayed. I was determined that beautiful Milly should not be sacrificed to that cold-blooded fanatic. Besides, she loved me, and but for the attraction of Herne's money she would have become my wife. I met her often, as you know; and some wretch sent tales of these meetings to Herne."
"Do you know who wrote Herne those letters?" asked Paul eagerly.
"No; if I did, I'd kick the person who sent them," said Lovel viciously. "I have no idea who was so cruel. Well, Mexton, while paying court to Milly, and urging her to break off the engagement with Herne, I met with old Mother Jimboy, the gipsy. She positively haunted my steps, and never saw me without speaking to me. I found her a great nuisance."
"Perhaps she wrote the anonymous letters," suggested Mexton, thinking of the dirty paper and the illegible handwriting as described by Catinka.