"Because I wrote it."
"You. And to Sir Hector?"
"Yes. Wyke wrote asking me to go down and see him at Maranatha privately. I replied, saying that I would, and fixed the time. But, owing to the lateness of the post, I arrived before my letter did. Hall brought it, and left it on the table in the hall. It disappeared, and Lady Wyke told me that Neddy Mellin took it when he came with the washing just after the crime was committed. What his object was, I can't say, although Lady Wyke hinted that he desired to get money. However, the boy read the letter, and knew that I was coming to the house. I can't say if he thought that I had already arrived, and was the man who escaped on the bicycle. Lady Wyke got that letter from Neddy, and made him promise to hold his tongue. She sent him to London so as to get him out of the way. She now holds my letter making the appointment, and threatens to show it to Sergeant Purse if I don't throw you over."
"Oh!" Claudia stared straight in front of her, pale and dismayed. "It is very terrible, and very complicated. Why did Sir Hector write to you?" Craver told her rapidly and without further preamble. Thus, Claudia learnt how the dead man intended to leave his money to Edwin, and how he hated his wife. "It was to prevent her finding out his intentions regarding the disposal of his property that he asked me to come secretly to Maranatha," finished Edwin, quietly. "I did so."
"No one saw you; no one recognised you?"
"No one. I was muffled up in a heavy top-coat when I got to Redleigh Station, and pulled my cap over my eyes so that the station-master and the porters should not recognise, me. They did not, and then I walked to Hedgerton to enter that accursed house, and--well you know the rest."
"But how did you escape?"
This also Craver told her, and shortly Claudia was in possession of the whole terrible story. Of course, she immediately saw in what peril her lover stood, and how easily Lady Wyke could have him arrested. "Oh, what is to be done?" she wailed, clasping her hands.
"The first thing to be done is for you and me to keep cool. The second is to prevent father and mother knowing anything that we know. For that reason I was obliged to tell lies, much as I dislike doing so. The third thing, to be done is for me to go to London to-night and see your father at Tenby Mansions the first thing in the morning."
"What good will that do?"