n this business, Mr. Rogers," protested
Whitmore. "I'm telling you the truth, sir!" And indeed the poor
rogue, having for the moment another's sins to confess, rattled on
with his story almost glibly. "As I was saying, sir, the old man cut
her out of his will: and not only this, but had a Bible fetched and
took his oath upon it that no child of hers should ever touch a penny
of his money. Be so good as to bear that in mind, sir, for it's
important."

"I see," Mr. Rogers nodded. "So that cuts out Master Archibald.
And the money, I suppose, went to her brother's child--the boy you
spoke of?"

"Softly sir, for now we come to it. That boy--Randall Leicester's
son--was George Leicester--the man who calls himself Letcher.
Randall Leicester lived long enough to have his heart broken by him.
He started in the Navy, with plenty of pocket-money, and better
prospects; for Sir Charles turned all his affection over to him and
meant to make him his heir. But--if you knew George Leicester,
gentlemen, as I do! That man has a devil in him; and the devil
showed himself early. First there was an ugly story about a woman--a
planter's wife in one of the West India islands, where he was serving
under Abercromby--Santa Lucia, I think, or it may have been St.
Vincent. They say that after getting her to run with him, he left
her stranded and bolted back to the ship with his pockets full of her
jewels. On top of that came a bad business at Naples--an affair of
cards--which cost him his uniform. After that he disappeared, and
for years his uncle has believed him to be dead."

"Then who gets the money?"

"There's the villainy, sir"--he spoke as if indeed he had taken no
hand in it. "Sir Charles, you see, had vowed never to leave it to
young Plinlimmon: but it seems he's persuaded himself that the oath
doesn't apply to young Plinlimmon's children, should he marry and
have children. To whom else should it go? 'Lawful heirs of his
body': and if the inheritance is made void by bastardy, you see, he
turns up as the legitimate heir and collars the best of the
property."

"My God!" shouted Mr. Rogers, and would have leapt on him again had
not the Rector, with wonderful agility for his years, flung himself
between. "You dare to stand there and tell me that, to aid this
devilry, you pushed a woman into shame--and that woman Isabel
Brooks?"

"Mr. Rogers," the Rector implored, "control yourself! I know better
than you--every man kno