“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.”

“That’s the man!” said Jimmie.  “He’s as mad as a March hare.  Thank God, they have got him!”

“We’ll soon have Mr. Vernon out,” Sir Lucius replied, cheerfully.