"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 sanctity, 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 nobleman. 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.

CHAPTER XIII
AN INTERESTING DOCUMENT

Marton did not wish the identity of Pratt to be concealed. On the contrary, he gave it as wide a publicity as possible, hoping that it might lead to the man's capture. Everyone from Portfront to Colester knew the would-be country gentleman, so it was not unlikely that he might be caught. Considering that only a night had elapsed, it was impossible that he could have got far away, especially in a fog. And if Pratt escaped there was always the off-chance that Adam might be laid by the heels.

An examination next morning showed Marton that the two bicycles were missing, so he judged that both men had gone off together. It was improbable in Marton's opinion that they had gone to Portfront, as they could not possibly leave before the steamer at seven o'clock, and the police could be communicated with by telegraph before they could get clear of the place. At half-past six Marton routed a telegraph operator out of his bed, and set him to work. He wired to the inspector at Portfront to arrest Pratt and his man forthwith, or, at all events, to detain them until the London police could be communicated with and a warrant for Pratt's manifold iniquities procured.

But, to Marton's surprise, no answer was returned from Inspector German. Yet the inspector knew Pratt well, and, if the man set foot in Portfront, could easily seize him. Later on, somewhere about nine o'clock, the reason that no answer had arrived became apparent. A messenger came from Portfront to say that the telegraph wire between that place and Portfront had been cut midway. There was only one line, so all communication had been broken off. The steamer had started, and, without doubt, the two men were on board. At once Marton started off to Portfront on the curate's bicycle. On his arrival he went to see German.

The inspector was much astonished when he heard the story. He had not received the wire, and therefore had done nothing. In Marton's company he hurried to the office of the steamer.

"You see the kind of man we have to deal with, German," said Marton, much vexed. "It was a clever dodge to cut the wire, and yet he gave himself away. I did not think he would go to Portfront, but the cutting of the wire proves he did. We'll wire to Worthing, and stop him there."

An inquiry at the steamer office resulted in nothing. It seemed that Mr Pratt had a season ticket, and therefore had not purchased one. Nor had Adam, so it might be that he was still in the town. The loafers on the pier said they had not seen Pratt go aboard.

"Humph!" said Marton, "he sneaked on in some disguise."

"Is he clever at disguising himself?" asked German.

"I should think so. His own mother would not know him. Still, he had no time to make-up before he left Colester, so he may not be so carefully disguised. I daresay we can catch him at Worthing."

A wire was sent to Worthing forthwith, and another to Scotland Yard, requesting that someone might be sent down to take charge of Pratt's house, and to identify the goods he had in it. There was a list of the houses Pratt had broken into, and a list of the stolen goods also, so it would be easy to have this brought down and compared with the contents of The Nun's House. Having thus done all that he could under the circumstances, Marton returned to Colester, where he found the curate and Leo waiting for him. The latter had now taken up his quarters at the inn. But he kept within doors, as now that the identity of Pratt was known, Leo was credited with having been his confederate.

There was tremendous excitement in Colester over the discovery that the village had entertained unawares a well-known London thief. Many of the villagers flattered themselves on the stern and non-committal attitude they had adopted towards the too fascinating stranger. Mr Pratt had never been very popular, but now he was spoken ill of on every hand. The whole village would have been delighted to have seen him in the power of the law.

But Pratt was too clever for them all. The wire to Worthing produced no result. Neither Pratt nor Adam were on board. It then appeared that the steamer had put in at Bognor. Marton had omitted to advise the police there of the fugitives, so it was presumed that they had got off with the rest of the passengers. The captain did not know Adam by sight, and Pratt had evidently disguised himself well. At all events, in the crowd the two had passed unnoticed. Although the London stations were watched, no sight could be caught of them.

"A clever man Pratt!" said Marton, when informed of his ill success. "I am perfectly certain of the way in which he went about the matter. He and his servant got off at Bognor, and alighted at some station just outside the metropolis. They got to their own haunts by some back way."

"Do you know of their haunts?" asked Leo, who was keenly interested in the matter, and could not help feeling relieved that Pratt had escaped.

"Oh! they change them every now and then. Besides, Adam will keep out of sight, and Pratt will so disguise himself that there will be no recognising him. He's got clean away this time. And I believe, Mr Haverleigh," added Marton, with a laugh, "that you are rather pleased!"

"Well," said Leo, with some hesitation, "in spite of all you say, I can't bring myself to believe that Pratt is a bad sort of chap. He was very kind to me."

"He is kind to most people. He poses as a kind of modern Robin Hood, who robs the rich to give to the poor. I have known him to do many kind actions. But he is a scamp for all that, and if I could lay my hands on him I'd get him!"

Mrs Gabriel was much annoyed to find that Pratt was so notorious a character. She determined to clear herself of complicity in his sordid crimes, although no one ever suspected that she had any knowledge of the man's true character. She sent for Marton, and had a long talk with him about Pratt; incidentally a reference was made to Leo.

"I have asked you to see me, Mr Marton," she said, "because it was I who introduced Mr Pratt to Colester. I have known him ten years, and he always appeared to me to be a most respectable American."

"He is not an American at all," said Marton. "But he could assume any nationality that suited him for the moment. He is a brilliantly-clever man, Mrs Gabriel, and I do not wonder he took you in."

"He got no money out of me, at all events," said the lady, grimly.

"Ah! Then you escaped easily. The wonder is he did not try and marry you! A rich widow is exactly the kind of victim he would like."

"I am not the sort of woman to be anyone's victim, Mr Marton."

Marton, looking at her stern, strong face, quite agreed, but he was too polite to give vent to his feelings. He merely inquired how Mrs Gabriel had become acquainted with this Prince of Swindlers. She had no hesitation in giving him full details.

"I met him at a Swiss hotel many years ago," she said. "He was then called Pratt, and he posed as a rich American. I met with an accident while out walking on the hill above Montreux, and lay out till nightfall. Mr Pratt rescued me from this very unpleasant position, and took me back to the hotel. A friendship sprang up between us, and when he returned to England he called on me. As he was always the same for ten years, and I saw much of him, I never suspected that he was other than he represented himself to be. Besides, Mr Marton, you must admit he is a most fascinating man."

"Much too fascinating, Mrs Gabriel, as many have found to their cost."

Mrs Gabriel reflected a moment. "Do you think he will be put in prison?"

"Certainly, if we catch him," replied Marton, quietly; "he is a man dangerous to society. All his life he has been a rogue and a criminal. All his money comes to him in the wrong way. That house below – I believe you let it to him, Mrs Gabriel – is filled with the proceeds of his robberies. He bought the furniture, but the objects of art – even the pictures – have all been stolen. In a few days I shall have some people down from Scotland Yard to identify the things and restore them to their owners. But as to Mr Pratt, I fear he has escaped out of the clutches of the law – as usual."

"I cannot say I regret it," said Mrs Gabriel, boldly. "Bad as he is, there are worse people in the world, Mr Marton. But tell me, sir. You are investigating this robbery. My adopted son, Mr Haverleigh is suspected."

"He is perfectly innocent, Mrs Gabriel. The money he was said to have obtained from the sale of the cup was given to him by Sir Frank Hale."

"Sir Frank denies it."

"So Mr Haverleigh says. But I'll see Sir Frank myself, and see what I can make of him. I would rather believe Mr Haverleigh than anyone else. He has an absolutely open nature."

"He is a fool, if that is what you mean."

"Pardon me, I do not think so! A man can be straightforward and honourable, as Mr Haverleigh is, without being a fool. As yet I have not investigated this case, as my attention has been taken up with Pratt. But in a day or so I hope to go to work and then I am prepared to say that the crime will not be brought home to your nephew."

"Have you any suspicions?"

"Not yet. I have not searched out the evidence sufficiently."

"Mrs Jeal saw my nephew pawn the cup."

"Ah! That is a mystery which I must fathom, Mrs Gabriel. A person resembling Mr Haverleigh pawned the cup, but I am sure it was not your nephew. There is a conspiracy against him, on whose part I am not prepared to say yet. But I shall find it out, clear his character, and punish those who have been concerned in it. And now, Mrs Gabriel, I must bid you good-day, as my time is fully occupied. Let me, however, inform you that there is no need to excuse your association with Mr Pratt. I quite understand how he wriggled himself into your acquaintance, and you are in no way to blame. Once more, good-day!"

Marton bowed himself out. But he had seen enough of Mrs Gabriel to note the strong hatred she bore towards Leo, and he wondered what could be the reason. Also, he saw that for a moment she had flinched at the mention of conspiracy, which set him on the alert as to whether her detestation of her nephew had carried her so far as to plot against his good name.

"If there is anything the matter, Hale is the man to know," murmured the detective; "he lent the money, and now declines to acknowledge the loan. I believe there is something bad at the back of all this. Poor Haverleigh seems to be the most harmless of men, yet he is being ruined in some underhand way. Well, I'll settle Pratt's matter, and then clear his name."

But before Marton could do this, Providence took the task out of his hand. For the next ten days he was busy consulting with those sent down from Scotland Yard about the numerous stolen articles found in The Nun's House. The cabinet of antique coins was restored to a famous collector, who had lost them five years before. Many pictures were replaced in the galleries of country houses, and, in one way and another, by the time The Nun's House was denuded of what belonged to other people, there remained very little but the furniture. And even some choice articles of furniture were found to be the property of other people. It was really wonderful the amount of stolen goods that Pratt had collected. He must have thieved for years to have got together such a collection.

"But he will start no more burrows," said Marton, when all was at an end. "He never expected that I should find him here, and therefore collected all his treasures. His life is not long enough to enable him to bring together such a collection of things again. Besides, he has not the same wide field for his knaveries. The police are one too many for him now."

Marton said this to the vicar, who was deeply shocked to hear of the wickedness of the man from whom he had accepted the cup. "Do you think that sacred vessel was stolen also, Mr Marton?" asked the good man.

"I am perfectly sure of it," replied the detective, promptly; "but we have not got the cup down on our list, and no one has come forward to claim it."

"It has not been advertised, Mr Marton."

"Pardon me, sir, it has been advertised, and by someone in this place. I saw this notice in the Daily Telegraph, also in the Times. Can you tell me who 'S.T.' is, Mr Tempest?"

The vicar took the newspaper handed to him and looked at it in a bewildered manner. He read the notice carefully, but it never struck him that the initials were those of his own daughter. "I really do not know who can have inserted this, Mr Marton," he said. "It seems to be carefully worded, too, and a reward of fifty pounds has been offered. Dear me!"

"I have a rival who is investigating the case," said Marton, with a smile. "Is the description accurate, vicar?"

"Perfectly; even the inscription. If you will permit me to take this away, Mr Marton, I will see if I can discover who has put it in. I am annoyed that the thing should have been taken out of your hands. But, Mr Marton, before I leave you, let me state to you my conviction that my young friend Leo Haverleigh did not steal the cup."

"Ah, indeed, Mr Tempest," said Marton, eyeing the old man keenly. "And what has led you to such a happy conclusion?"

"I have no grounds for it save my inward conviction."

"There is the story of Mrs Jeal, you know."

Mr Tempest looked troubled. "Most remarkable story," he said. "But we have heard of many cases of accidental resemblances, Mr Marton. I fear I have been unjust to Leo, and I wish to withdraw any charge I may have made against him. I heard his defence, and saw his face while he was making it. Unless the face is not the index of the mind, I cannot bring myself to believe that he lied. No, Mr Marton, I cannot give you my reasons, but I am convinced that I misjudged Leo."

"Were you prejudiced against him by Mrs Gabriel?" asked Marton, for Leo had told him his suspicions on this point.

Mr Tempest hesitated. "I admit that I was," he said at length. "She said something to me which I am not at liberty to repeat."

"Does it make Mr Haverleigh out a villain?"

"By no means," said the vicar, hastily. "What she told me is sad, but not wicked. More his misfortune than his fault. I can say no more. I can keep this paper, Mr Marton? Thank you, sir. Good-day, good-day!" and the vicar walked away, leaving Marton pondering.

It was three days after this, and when Marton was about to begin his investigation of the case, that he received a letter from London. He was more surprised than he chose to say when he found that it came from Mr Pratt. That gentleman gave no address – he had posted the letter at the General Post-office, so that even the district where he was hidden should not be traced. The letter – as Marton said afterwards – was one of consummate impudence, and it took him all his time to read it with patience. As a human document it possessed a certain value. The letter ran as follows, and Marton swore as he read: —

"Dear Marton, – So you have let me slip through your fingers again. Is it not about time that you stopped setting your wits against mine? Several times you have tried; but always you have been beaten. Really, you must take lessons in the art of thief-catching, if you want to deserve the reputation you possess.

"I am bound to say that but for the fog I should have been caught. But, thanks to its friendly shelter, I ran back to my house, while you were blundering about like a lost sheep, and warned Adam. I knew you would have to get Raston to show you the way, and would be some time. Still, I knew your infernal pertinacity, and made myself as scarce as possible in a very short space of time. I should like to have seen your face when you came to my house and found your prey had escaped.

"I packed up my jewels, which I always keep prepared for such an emergency as this, and, dressing myself warmly, I mounted my bicycle. Adam, who had likewise made his preparations, mounted another, and we both went down the main road. In spite of the mist there was no difficulty. The highway runs in a straight line to Portfront, and there was no vehicle abroad to make our travelling dangerous. We did not hurry, but took our time, as I did not wish to get to Portfront before the steamer went. As a matter of fact we did, but hung about the outskirts of the town until it was time to be aboard. Of course I do not need to tell you how I stopped you from communicating with the Portfront police. I suggested the idea, and Adam climbed the pole to cut the telegraph wire.

"We had a very pleasant trip as far as Bognor, where we got on the train, and stopped at some station, the name of which I need not tell you. We are now in London in very comfortable circumstances. If you are clever enough to find me – which I don't think you are – I promise to give myself up as soon as you appear. But there is no chance of my seeing you. Better remain in Colester, my dear Marton, and turn farmer. It is all you are fit for. Upon my honour it is.

"One thing I should like to know. How the devil did you manage to find out my retreat? I never thought you had it in you. I went to see Raston on some business likely to enhance my popularity in the parish, and I dropped across you! For the first time in my life I was taken aback. Was it design or accident that I found you there? I do not wish to compliment you undeservedly.

"Well, you have driven me away, and I must find a new place in which to pass my old age. It is too bad of you, Marton! On my soul, too bad! I was getting so popular in Colester. Now, I suppose, everyone of the honest men are swearing at me. Yet I never robbed them.

"One other thing. If you came down to investigate that robbery of the cup I presented to the church, you can spare yourself the trouble. I stole it myself. It went to my heart to lose so valuable an object, and I was sorry when I had given it. I could not ask for it back, so I resolved to steal it. I went to the church, and, as I am a small man, I climbed in through the lepers' window. I got the cup, climbed out again, and went back to my house. Then I was afraid lest the cup would be seen by chance, and all my popularity would go. I therefore resolved to pawn it. That is a way I have kept safe many a piece of jewellery. I could not go myself, but I sent Adam. He is rather like Leo Haverleigh, and so that fool of a Mrs Jeal made the mistake. You need not look for the cup in Battersea now, as I have redeemed it. I took the ticket from Adam, and went myself. It is now in my possession, again, and I do not intend to part with it any more. You know how fond I am of beautiful things, dear Marton.

"Well, I daresay you guessed that I stole the cup. Here is my confession, and you can tell all those fools at Colester, including the vicar, that Leo Haverleigh is perfectly innocent. He has not enough brains to steal anything. I only took back my own, and I am proud of it, as I have bamboozled the lot of you – clever Mr Marton included!

"Leo got the money with which he paid his debts from Sir Frank Hale. You can ask him – Hale, I mean. If he denies it, I leave him to you, as you are clever enough to get the truth out of him. He wants to marry Sybil Tempest, and desires Leo to marry his sister Edith. All this was a plot to get Leo into his power, and force him to do what was wanted. I hope you will punish the young man Hale. He is a cripple, and has all the spite of one. I should have punished him myself, but you have deprived me of that pleasure. I therefore call upon you to do your best.

"And now, my dear Marton, good-bye. Give my love to all the mourning population of Colester, and especially to Mrs Gabriel, my dear and life-long friend. I am afraid she will not get her rent. Also I had the house re-decorated at her expense. The bills will be sent in to her. Let her pay them with my blessing. I will write to Leo myself, and give him my blessing. I have much to say to him that will be of no interest to you. He is a good fellow, and I wish to see him married to Sybil. He will be some day. I can manage her fool of a father even at a distance.

"Now, I hope you will look after yourself, for my sake, Marton. So long as the Scotland Yard idiots keep you on my track, I am safe. If you died, they might perhaps pick a clever man, dangerous to me, my friend. So, with all kind regards and best wishes until we meet. – Believe me, my dear failure, yours never – in the flesh,

"Richard Pratt."