The vicar rose from his chair, showing traces of deep agitation and
distress.

"A friend of Sir Lucius Chesney is a friend of mine," he said, hoarsely.
"I shall be glad to help you--to do anything in my power to clear your
friend. I believe that he is innocent. Your sad story has awakened old
memories, Mr. Drexell. And it is a great shock to me, as you will
understand when I tell you all. I seldom read the London papers, and
it comes as a blow and a surprise to me that Diane Merode has been
murdered."

"Then you know her by that name?" exclaimed Jimmie. "This is indeed
fortunate, Mr. Chalfont. I feared that you would find it difficult to
identify the woman--to recall her. And the man whom she proclaimed as
her enemy--do you know _him_?"

"Judge for yourself," replied the vicar, as he sat down and settled back
in his chair. "I will state the facts, distinctly and briefly. That will
not be hard to do. To begin, I have been in this parish for thirty
years, and I am familiar with its history. I remember when Diane
Merode's father came home with his young bride. He was a doctor, with
some small means of his own, and he lived in the second house beyond the
church. His wife was a French girl, well educated and beautiful, and he
met and married her while on a visit to France; his name was George
Hammersley. They settled here in the village, but I do not think that
they lived very happily together. Their one child, christened Diane,
was born two years after the marriage. She inherited her mother's
vivacious disposition and love of the world, and I always felt
misgivings about her future. She spent five years at a school in Paris,
and returned at the age of sixteen. Within less than two years her
parents died within a week of each other, of a malignant fever that
attacked our village. A friend of George Hammersley's took Diane to his
home--it appeared that she had no relatives--and nine months later she
married a man, nearly twenty years her senior, who had fallen
passionately in love with her."

"By Jove, so she was really married before!" cried Jimmie. "But I beg
your pardon, Mr. Chalfont, for interrupting you."

"This man, Gilbert Morris, was comparatively well-to-do," resumed the
vicar. "He owned a couple of ships, and when at home he lived in
Dunwold; but he was away the greater part of his time, sailing one or
the other of his vessels to foreign ports. Six months after the marriage
he started on such a voyage, leavin