“My brother Isaac told me that the four sailors had murdered the captain and crew of their ship, also a King’s officer and his wife who were passengers. Bess, who was the lady’s child, they saved out of pity, and because she was scarcely three years old. The ship, whose name I never knew, was scuttled in a fog off Beachy Head, the four sailor men coming ashore in the jolly-boat with the treasure and the child. The chest was buried in the forest near a place known as the Monk’s Grave. This, God help me! is all I know. I have kept this secret twenty years.”
Jeffray and the painter looked hard into each other’s eyes when they had read the confession through. There was a slight flush as of triumph on Jeffray’s face, as he held out his hand exultantly to Wilson.
“We go to Lewes after all,” he said.
“Sir!”
“I shall send a letter back by the trooper to Cornet Jellicoe, thanking him, and saying that I have gone to Lewes on legal business. We will cross the water to-morrow, God helping us!”
Wilson gave his friend a keen look, and tapped the letter with his finger.
“There is still a mystery here, sir,” he said.
“What does it matter, Dick—what does it matter?”
“If this be true—”
“True! Why, damn it, Dick, I have always believed it true. Do you think that girl was born in a hovel?”