"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.