"Had he the stiletto with him?"

"I believe he had, but I did not see it. Afterwards he took the stiletto
back to the churchyard and pretended to find it, so that Anne might be
accused. Denham never suspected Morley of the crime. Why, I don't know,
as any one who knew what I have told you about his offers to Denham and
Dane must have guessed that Morley was guilty."

"How did you learn all this?" asked Giles, glancing at the confession
which was in Morley's own handwriting.

"At various times. I did not suspect him at first. But one thing led to
another and I watched him. I got at his papers and discovered all about
the Scarlet Cross, and----"

"Wait, Mrs. Morley--I mean Warton. Did Morley write that anonymous
letter which accused Anne?"

"Yes. He did so, in case it was necessary to kill Daisy. He hoped by
hinting beforehand that Anne would be accused. It was Anne's foolish
speech to Daisy, saying she would kill her, that gave him the idea. But
she meant nothing by it. It was only a few hot words. However, Morley
used them to his own end. Well, Mr. Ware, I found out about the thieving
gang, and then learned for the first time the kind of man I had married.
My love died out of my heart at once. I took to thinking how I could get
away from him. He used to mutter in his sleep, having an uneasy
conscience."

"I should think he was too strong a man to have a conscience."

"Well, he muttered in his sleep at all events. From what he said I
discovered that he had something to do with the death of Daisy. I
accused him, and told him that I knew all about his Scarlet Cross
wickedness. He denied the truth of this at first. Afterwards, little by
little, I got the truth out of him. I then made him write out that
confession and sign it, so that I could save Anne should she be caught.
I promised for the sake of my own name and my children not to use the
confession unless Anne was taken. That is why Morley ran away with Anne.
He fancied that she would continue to bear the blame, and also"--here
Mrs. Wharton hesitated and glanced at Giles--"I fancy that Oliver was in
love with Miss Denham."

"The scoundrel!" cried Giles furiously.

Mrs. Wharton--as she now called herself--laughed coldly and rose to
depart. "I don't think it matters much now," she said. "Anne was not
drowned also, was she?"

"No," replied Ware, shuddering; "she is in London, and I hope shortly to
make her my wife."

"I wish her all happiness," said Mrs. Wh