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Page 91
"That settles it!" cried Jimmie, jumping up in excitement. "Gilbert
Morris is the man!"
"Yes, I fear he is the murderer," assented the vicar. "But, pray sit
down, Mr. Drexell, and we will talk further of the sad affair. Lunch
will be ready in a few minutes, and I shall be glad to have you--"
"Thanks, but I can't stop," Jimmie interrupted, as he put on his hat.
"I'm off to town to help the police to find the guilty man."
"But surely, my dear sir, this is a very hasty conclusion--"
"Can you doubt for one moment, in your heart, that Gilbert Morris killed
that unfortunate woman?"
"The circumstances all point that way," admitted Mr. Chalfont. "Yes, it
is a pretty clear case. It is distressing to think that the crime might
have been prevented, had the police been promptly informed of the
madman's escape. But only Doctor Bent and myself were aware of the
fact--excepting the attendants of the institution. As I told you, I knew
nothing of the murder until you informed me, and it was unlikely that
the doctor--though he must have read the papers--should have associated
the deed with Morris; he took charge of the place quite recently, and
could not have been well posted regarding the history of his patient."
"He ought to be arrested for criminal neglect," Jimmie said,
indignantly. "He is in a measure responsible for the murder. Gilbert
Morris might have been retaken almost at once had the police been
informed at the time of the escape."
"Just so!" the vicar agreed.
"I'm off now," continued Jimmie. "I can't thank you enough, Mr.
Chalfont, for the information you have given me. I shall never forget
it, nor will my friend."
"It was Providence that guided you here," replied the vicar. "His ways
are indeed marvelous. I wish you every success, Mr. Drexell. I trust
that your friend will speedily be at liberty, and if I can be of any
further service, count upon me."
"I'll do that, sir," Jimmie assured him.
The next minute he was striding away from the vicarage, and it was a
very perspiring and foam-flecked horse that pulled up outside the
Railway Arms at Pevensey half an hour later. Jimmie jumped out of the
trap, paid the account, and dashed over to the station. His arrival
was timely, for he learned that a through London train was due in ten
minutes. During the interval he found some vent for his impatience in
sending a wire to Sir Lucius Chesney, as follows:
"Success! Back in town at three o'clock."
Never had a railway journey seemed so long and tiresome to Jimmie as
that comparatively short one, in a fast train, from Pevensey to London.
He had a book and a newspaper, but he could not read; he smoked like a
furnace, and glared from the window at the flying landscape. He reached
Victoria station at five minutes past three, and just outside the gates
he met Sir Lucius.
"I barely got here--I was afraid I'd miss you," the latter exclaimed
breathlessly; his face was a more ruddy color than usual. "I have
something to tell you," he went on; "something that happened--"
"It's a jolly good thing, sir, that I went down to Pevensey," Jimmie
interrupted, as he drew his companion aside to a quieter spot. "You'll
scarcely believe what I have found out. The vicar told me a most amazing
story, and we spotted the murderer at once. He is Diane's real
husband--Jack was never legally married to her--and his name is Gilbert
Morris. He is an escaped lunatic--"
"Gad, sir, the man is arrested!" gasped Sir Lucius. "He is in custody!"
"Arrested?" cried Jimmie.
"Yes; the afternoon papers are full of it. The police, furnished with
a description of the man and other information, apprehended him this
morning early in a Lambeth lodging-house. There were blood-spots on his
clothing, and in his pocket they found a bloodstained knife. He became
violent the moment he was arrested, and raved about his wife Diane, who
had deserted him, and how he had killed her to avenge his honor."
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