"With such a face as that he knows precious little," retorted Marton; "he is a good fellow, but not sharp. He did not steal that cup, nor did he help Pratt to get away. No, Raston. Our criminal friend came back here while I was blundering in the fog, and after taking some money cleared out without loss of time. I sha'n't catch him now. I suppose the telegraph-office is closed?"

"Yes. It closes here at nine o'clock. And even if you sent a wire, it would not be delivered at Portfront to-night."

"No, I suppose not. You are all so slow in these country places! It is clever of you to mention Portfront, Raston. You think that Tony Angel will go there?"

"How else can he get away?"

"I don't know. You know the country better than I do. But I tell you what, our friend will not go to Portfront or anywhere near it."

"Why not?" asked the curate, bewildered.

"Because you expect him to go there. Angel always does the thing that is not expected. I wish I had caught him! I've been years trying to hunt him down. And the beast has made himself comfortable here!" said Marton, with a glance round. "I bet you, Raston, that the greater part of these things have been stolen."

"Stolen, Marton! How terrible. And the cup?"

"He stole that also," replied Marton, promptly, lighting one of his cigarettes. "Oh, he is a clever man, is Angel. Ah! here is our young and enterprising friend. Well, Mr Haverleigh, so Pratt has gone?"

"Yes," said Leo, looking puzzled. "I went to his room and found that his bed had not been slept in. The back door is open, although closed--that is, it has not been locked. How do you know Pratt has gone?"

"I'll tell you later. Throw a few logs on that fire, Raston. It will soon burn up. Here is a bottle of whisky, too, and some soda."

"I left that for Pratt," said Leo, somewhat surprised at the cool way in which this man was behaving.

"And Pratt was too clever to muddle his head when he needed all his wits about him. By the way, has his jackall gone also?"

"Adam is not in, if that is what you--"

"Yes, Mr Haverleigh, that is exactly what I do mean. Ha! Clever man Pratt! He came back here straight, and, warning his pal, walked off, leaving the empty house to me and to you, Mr Haverleigh. Did you hear him leave?"

"I heard nothing until you knocked at the door. Then I wondered why Adam did not hear you. The other servants are asleep at the back of the house, and I suppose they also expected Adam to answer the bell."

"That is extremely probable. Well, let us hope the remaining servants will sleep well. To-morrow they must leave this house!"

"Why, in Heaven's name?" asked Leo, starting up.

"For the very simple reason that the police will be put into possession here by me to-morrow."

"What? Did Pratt steal the--I don't understand. Raston, what does this man mean? Who is he? What are--"

"Wait a bit, Mr Haverleigh," interrupted Marton, motioning the curate to hold his tongue, "all in good time. I am Horace Marton, a detective. I was asked by Mr Raston to investigate this robbery, and he was telling me about it at his lodgings. Your friend Mr Pratt arrived, and when he saw me he bolted out into the fog. I followed and lost him. Then I got back to Raston here, and we have been over two hours looking for this confounded place. During that time Pratt and Adam have made themselves scarce."

"But why should they do that?" asked Leo, still puzzled.

"Because this man who calls himself Pratt, and poses as a giver of gifts to the Church, is a well-known London thief, and his man Adam is what he would call a pal. 'Tony Angel,' that is the real name of Mr Pratt, but he had half-a-dozen others beside. I congratulate you on your friend, Mr Haverleigh!"

"I never knew anything of this," cried Leo, utterly taken aback.

"I am quite sure of that, Haverleigh," said the curate, heartily.

Marton chuckled. "Wait a bit, Harold," he said; "do not be in such a hurry. How do we know that Mr Haverleigh has not been working together with Tony Angel? He may know all about him and may have been employed by him to steal the very cup which was given by Pratt as an evidence of his respectability."

Leo jumped up and would have flung himself on Marton; but Raston held him back. "How dare you make such as accusation against me?" cried the young man, furiously. "Let me go, Raston; don't you hear what he says?"

"Wait a bit, Haverleigh," urged the curate. "Marton does nothing without a motive. He can explain if you will remain quiet."

Thus advised, Leo sat down again, but in rather a sulky humour. "I am a trifle tired of being called a blackguard," he said, frowning at Marton, who regarded him with a friendly smile. "I know absolutely nothing about Mr Pratt, save that he was a friend of Mrs Gabriel's, and that he has been very good to me. I always thought he was what he represented himself to be."

"Small wonder you did," said Marton, coolly. "Angel would deceive a much cleverer man than you appear to be, Mr Haverleigh! And look here, I may as well tell you at once that I am certain you knew nothing about him.

Also I am equally certain that you have had nothing to do with this robbery. I cannot say yet whether Pratt--as I may continue to call him for clearness' sake--stole the cup. But you are innocent, Mr Haverleigh; and I intend to do my best to get you out of your trouble.

Shake hands."

At first Leo hesitated, for he was still sore about the accusation. But the detective regarded him in a friendly manner, and his smile was so irresistible, that in the end he shook hands heartily. He felt that the man who spoke thus would be a good friend. "You know all about the case?"

"All that Mr Raston could tell me," said the detective, "even to the fact that you borrowed the money for which you are accused of stealing the cup from Sir Frank Hale."

"Then I wish you would make him acknowledge the loan," said Leo, petulantly.

Marton started and looked at the young man. "Does he not do so?"

"No. He is in love with Miss Tempest, who is engaged to me, and he says he will deny the loan if I do not give her up."

"And marry his sister, I suppose!" interposed the curate, whereat Leo nodded.

"Humph!" said Marton, thoughtfully, caressing his chin. "It seems to me, Mr Haverleigh, that you have been made a tool of by unscrupulous people.

But I'll give my attention to this to-morrow. I'll get the truth out of this Hale! He don't dare to palter with me. Leave yourself and your reputation in my hands, Haverleigh."

"Very gladly," said Leo, heartily; "but what about Pratt?"

Marton reflected, and took a sip of whisky and water. "He's gone. I do not think he will appear again in Colester."

"But he has left his house and all these beautiful things behind him,"

put in Raston, with a glance around.

"I see he has made himself comfortable," said Marton, with a shrug; "it was always his way! This is not the first time he has furnished a house, settled down. He has been driven out of every burrow, however. This time I discovered his hiding-place by accident. Colester was about the best place in the whole of England he could have chosen. No one would have thought of looking for him here. I daresay he expected to settled down and die in the odour of sanct.i.ty, surrounded by his ill-gotten gains.

But he has not gone empty-handed, Haverleigh. He is too clever for that, and is always prepared for an emergency."

"But _who_ is Pratt?"

"Well; you are asking me a hard question. I understand he is a workhouse brat of sorts. He himself claims to be the illegitimate son of a n.o.bleman. Certainly, he has a very gentlemanly appearance. He has been working for at least thirty years, and has always contrived to evade the English police. I believe he was laid by the heels in America."

"He has travelled a great deal."

"I believe you! He knows the whole world and all the scoundrels in it. A king of crime! That is what Pratt is. The generality of thieves adore him, for he has his good points, and he is generous. Well, we have talked enough for to-night. I'll sleep here, Haverleigh. Raston?"

"I'll return to my own place," said the curate, rising to go.

And this he did, but Marton, having found the burrow of Pratt, _alias_ Angel, did not intend to leave it. He was quite as clever as the man he was hunting.