With a glance of triumphant contempt at the bladder she had pricked so easily, Mrs. Peters turned to her husband. "I think, Charles, that I can safely leave you now to hear Mr. Hedderwick's explanation. I have no wish to be present during a painful scene; besides, I am wanted in the larder."

"Mr. Hedderwick!" repeated the vicar blankly. "What do you mean, Clara? I can not understand—I have no idea—you must——"

"He will tell you," said the lady, vouchsafing nothing further. After all, she had had a fair share of the lime-light, and there was no need to risk an anticlimax. "If you had only listened to me when I warned you ... but there! men are all alike."

She swept from the room, and the bewildered clergyman appealed to the heap in the chair.

"Mr. Bangs—Mr. Hedderwick, perhaps I ought to say—will you be kind enough to tell me what it all means?"

Robert raised a stricken head.

"I thought, Mr. Peters, that things were bad enough when I came. Your wife's news proves to me that I am wrong. My name is not Bangs, but Hedderwick."

"So I gathered," said the vicar uncomfortably. "I think you owe me an explanation of your reasons for adopting a false name."

Robert glanced wildly at the clock.

"There is no time to go into details now. She may be here at any minute. But for the moment, Mr. Peters, please accept my word that I am involved in no disgrace—no shameful action. I am a churchwarden——"

"You really are?" There was excuse for the implied doubt.

"I really am, and innocent. My fault is an excessive love for romance and a temporary desertion of my wife. Oh! do not misunderstand me!" he begged, as he noticed an ecclesiastical stiffening. "I simply ran away for a short holiday—I meant to go back very soon! Surely, surely, you can understand! You are married—I mean, a clergyman in the exercise of his duties must have a wide knowledge of the world—a certain sympathy...."

"I can understand," said the vicar thoughtfully, perhaps flattered at the tribute to his worldly knowledge. "I can not praise—possibly can not sympathize; but at least I may fairly claim to understand."

"Thank you—thank you! Well, to be as brief as I can (and every minute is precious!), my friend and I had reason to suspect the occupants of The Quiet House——"

"Ha!" The vicar pricked up his ears. "Certain hints and whisperings have drifted round to me in the course of my parochial visiting, but——"

"Please, please, don't interrupt. You forget the London train! Mr. Wild and I entered The Quiet House garden by night to watch——"

"Surely that——"

"Yes—yes—yes! Most reprehensible, but you do not know all. We watched, were discovered, and in making our escape Mr. Wild was captured. I have not seen him since."

"What!"

"For five days I have been alone, miserable, in doubt and anguish. I have wondered, waited, made cautious inquiries. Nothing has happened. What am I to do?"

"You suspect——?" queried the vicar in delightful horror. He felt his hair bristling in anticipation.

"I do not know ... I can not guess. They say it is high politics—the Turkish government.... A spy.... I do not know what to believe. What can I do?"

The vicar, who prided himself on being a business man, mused for a moment, chin on hand.

"Suppose," he said brightly, "that Mott, the local policeman, applied for a search-warrant?"

"I would rather not invoke the aid of the police, if possible. There may be nothing serious after all, and in that case we should look ridiculous. Besides ... I wondered if you could call?"

The vicar seemed pleased, but apprehensive.

"Of course," he said, "I would face any danger if necessary and for a good cause. But I have my flock to think of.... If matters are as serious as you suggest, might there not be a second kidnaping? One hesitates to be melodramatic, but the possibilities of...."

"They would not dare to touch a minister of the church. There would be an outcry——"

"True ... true ... but would they admit me? I have called and been denied. Do you think——"

He paused, as a motor-horn sounded from the road. The noise of the engine was plainly heard. A moment later and the gate leading to the drive opened. The vicar walked to the window.

"Who can this be?" he said in surprise. "A motor-car, and in the morning! I hope he'll be careful of the borders."

Robert joined him at the window, his heart filled with anxious questioning. As he watched the car drive slowly in he clutched the vicar's arm. "She has changed her plan!" he gasped. "It's my wife! You must hide me quick!"

"B—but," stammered Mr. Peters, "there's no sense in that! Pull yourself together, Mr. Bangs—Mr. Hedderwick, I mean. You say you have done nothing wrong. Why not face her and get it over at once like a man?"

Robert, pallid in face and soul, gripped him more tightly, his knees shaking. The desperate need of the moment scorned the veneer of discretion. "You said you understood," he hissed fiercely. "Do you always stand up to Mrs. Peters?"

The vicar avoided his eye, but his answer brought hope to Robert. "Come along!" he said briskly, going to the door. He threw it open, and was disappointed to find his wife in the hall. That way of escape was blocked. "A caller, my dear!" he said, trying to cover his embarrassment. "If I'm wanted, I shall be in here." He returned to the room and closed the door. "You're caught, Mr. Hedderwick, I'm afraid. I'm very sorry, but you'll have to face it, after all."

"No, no!" said Robert. "Isn't there another door—a window?"

"The chauffeur's outside. Yes; by jove! there's the buttery hatch. Behind the screen! Get through that and out of the pantry window! It opens on the back. After that you must look out for yourself. I won't tell any lies on your behalf, but—but I'll try to give you a—a sporting start!"

Robert breathed a blessing on his head. Then, with some ado, he lifted the hatch and crawled through. The vicar closed it behind him, heard the pantry window open with a noiseless chuckle, and then braced himself to face a pair of indignant ladies. He had not long to wait, for, a minute after Robert had gained the road, Mrs. Peters introduced his visitor. Mrs. Hedderwick glanced round the room much as a terrier who has been told there is a rat about, and without waiting for apologies or declarations, said with an extraordinary bitterness, "Where is my husband?"

"He was here a moment ago," replied the vicar, nervous, but not without a certain enjoyment of the scene. "I suppose that you are looking forward to—a reunion—a——"

"I am," said Mrs. Hedderwick with a vindictive quietness. "Where is he? Hiding under the table?"

"My dear madam," expostulated the vicar, suppressing a wish to get there himself, so alarming was her eye, "do you imagine——"

"I want to know where he is!" interrupted the lady, still dangerously calm and determined. "Mrs. Peters most kindly—most kindly telephoned to say that he was in Shereling, and she has just said that she left him here. Where is he?"

"He has gone," said the vicar dreamily, looking out of the window and wondering whether Robert had reached The Happy Heart. A good runner, he reflected, might perhaps have succeeded, but Mr. Bangs was no longer young.

"Gone!" ejaculated both ladies together, and for once in his life the amiable clergyman had the satisfaction of communicating dramatic and exclusive news.

"Gone!" repeated Mrs. Peters. "Oh, Charles! Where? How?"

"Gone!" said Mrs. Hedderwick, with a rising inflection. "You have helped——"

"How could I detain him?" urged the vicar, retreating behind a chair. "Why blame me? Could I be expected to keep him here by force? If Mr. Hedderwick preferred to depart by the buttery hatch——"

"The buttery hatch."

"Let me show you," said the vicar helpfully, thinking that a reconstruction of the crime might divert a morbid interest in himself. "You see here it is, behind the screen. Mr. Hedderwick opened it, climbed through——"

"I do not believe it! It is too small for——"

"My dear madam," expostulated the vicar warmly, annoyed at having his veracity impugned, "I assure you it was so. Try for yourself!"

In her rage Mrs. Hedderwick raised her arm as if to strike the impious suggester. Mrs. Peters interposed, as the vicar quailed, and the situation was saved.

"Charles! What an indelicate thought! Imagine a lady like Mrs. Hedderwick crawling——"

The vicar had been through an anxious quarter of an hour. His nerves were on strings, and at any moment the tension might prove too strong. Had he been master of himself—had he possessed no sense of humor—had his late guest not presented so ridiculous an appearance in his exit, all might have yet been well. But the image projected upon his brain by the words of his wife (who had but an imperfect sympathy with comedy) was too much. He did not roar aloud, as he could have wished, but he buried his face in his hands and leaned upon the mantelpiece. The heaving of the shoulders gave evidence of his emotion.

"I think," said Mrs. Hedderwick, after a dreadful pause, "that your husband is hardly himself."

"I will attend to him presently," replied Mrs. Peters with menacing sympathy. "Come, Mrs. Hedderwick: I am sorry you should meet with such a disappointment. Your best course would be to drive to The Happy Heart, where I understand the fugitive is staying."

They left the room, without deigning to bestow any further notice on the vicar. He, unhappy man, pulled himself together too late. He wiped his eyes and rushed after them to offer seemly apologies. But as he reached his garden gate he saw the motor drive off. Behind the chauffeur were seated Mrs. Hedderwick and his wife. Mrs. Peters was resolved, if possible, to be in at the death.

"After all," thought the vicar when he realized that he could do nothing to reestablish himself, "why shouldn't I, too, see what is going to happen? Hedderwick suggested I should call at The Quiet House.... I might try again.... His suspicion, surely, can not be founded on fact, but at least it will be interesting—nay, a positive duty! If a fellow creature wants our services, we ought to spare neither time nor trouble—well, Brown! what is it?"

"Beg pardon, sir!" said the odd-job man, touching his hat. Mr. Peters noticed with astonishment that he was in his Sunday clothes. "I want to give notice!"

"I can't be bothered with that now," said the vicar impatiently. "I am particularly busy. Come to me——"

"I am sorry, sir, but I want to go at once," he said, interrupting the vicar.

The latter stared.

"But that's most unusual and inconsiderate. If you want to go, a week's notice——"

"It's too important for that, sir. Of course I am ready to forego my week's wages, but go I must."

"Not a death in the family, I hope?" said Mr. Peters, subduing the impatience of his tone. "If so, I'm very sorry, and of course——"

"No, sir: nothing serious—serious in that sense at least. I am sorry to have to give notice in such a hurry, but it must be done."

"Very well," replied the vicar, resuming an every-day voice. "Legally, of course, you couldn't demand your wages; but I have no intention of standing on the letter of the law. I might as well pay you now. Let's see——" He searched his pockets for change.

"Thank you, sir," replied the odd-job man. "You're very good to be so reasonable, and I wish I could oblige you by staying. Instead, if you'll kindly put a sovereign in the poor-box for me, I shall be satisfied."

"Eh—eh!" stammered the vicar. "Has all the world gone mad this morning? A sovereign in the poor-box, from my gardener! Wh—what——"

"A little mad, sir?" smiled Henry Brown. "Perhaps there's some excuse. Good-by and thank you."

He touched his hat and left the Shereling garden forever. Mr. Peters stared dumbly after him. He could make nothing of it, however, so he came to the sensible resolution of setting out on his investigations at once. Taking a stick in his hand, he trudged toward The Quiet House. Here, by the way, he was told there was nobody at home.

Henry Brown, whistling a cheerful strain, betook himself to The Happy Heart. He found the motor-car standing outside, the chauffeur indulging in a cigarette. Voices from the parlor indicated that the landlord was trying to reason with two ladies, neither of whom seemed to be amenable to treatment.

"But he's gorn, I tell you, ma'am," said the voice of Mr. Glew despairingly. "Ran in here, he did, a quarter of an hour ago: out again in five minutes——"

"I think you are prevaricating, Glew," said the acid tones of Mrs. Peters. "Your manner is not straightforward at all this morning——"

"And we shan't be satisfied till you have shown us his room," added Mrs. Hedderwick. "So there!"

As the landlord resumed the mournful chant, apparently relying on tautological emphasis rather than reasoned argument or ocular demonstration (a suggestion that seemed unwelcome), Henry Brown smiled and passed into the bar. Addressing the Boots, a "lad" of sixty-three, who acted as barman, beater, stable-boy, or butler as occasion or the seasons demanded, he said, "Is Miss Schmidt ready?"

"B'leeve so," said the Boots. "But I'll tell her you're here."

He went out, but returned shortly, followed by Mizzi, who was dressed for traveling. "Ah!" said she, with a radiant smile of welcome. "I have not kept you waiting long, have I?"

"Five days," answered Henry, to the astonishment of the Boots. "Five wasted days. Can't think why you wanted to stay here all that time. After being——"

He paused. He was about to say "sacked," but from consideration of his audience, refrained. Mizzi thanked him with a laugh.

"Ah!" she said very cheerfully. "The separation—shall we say?—was due to—guess!"

"Dunno," said Henry, watching her fasten her glove with admiring eyes.

"Jealousy!" she flashed, with a ripple of merriment. "Think of it! Jealousy! Even I could have hardly credited it. But I bear her no ill-will. On the contrary, I regard her as more human and could love her still more. (Bother—bother—r—r this glove. Can you——?")

"But why did you wait?" he grumbled, fastening the glove and taking as long as he could for the pleasure of pressing her dainty wrist.

"I will be frank," she said, laughing temptingly. Henry dumbly cursed the Boots. "Curiosity! I wanted to watch a little longer. But I foresee the end of the play and am ready to go. Let us be off!"

"Your luggage has gone to the station?"

"Yes, and it is time we followed. Come!"

"A kiss first," said Henry, hungrily bending forward.

At this moment Mrs. Peters, Mrs. Hedderwick and the landlord (the latter still emitting "But he's gorn—varnished, I tell you!") came from the parlor. They halted on observing the obvious sweethearts standing in the passage. Mrs. Peters, her finest instincts revolting from such a naked display of animalism—and in the morning, too!—at once relinquished the lacquered Mr. Hedderwick for a more congenial theme.

"Brown!" she ejaculated in tones that would have chilled a satyr. "Brown! how disgusting! Go to your work at once!"

The odd-job man could not restrain a natural blush, but he was man enough to stand his ground. The presence of Mizzi confirmed his courage and quickened his wits.

"Mr. Brown, if you please, ma'am," he said quietly but with resolution. "I've left your service and am my own master now."

Mrs. Peters, justly annoyed at being thus spoken to by a menial, changed her line of attack.

"So this is the explanation!" she said, wishing she had a lorgnette for Mizzi's benefit. She surveyed her with a severity that ought to have appalled. The survey gave her no comfort, for Mizzi was dressed to perfection. "So this is the young woman!"

"A deplorable exhibition," said Mrs. Hedderwick dispassionately. "The lower classes—"

The young woman gave a most impertinent laugh, and said, "Come, Henry! We shall miss the train!"

They left The Happy Heart; and the landlord, who had recovered breath, but not a fresh inspiration, during the interlude, took up the tale again.

Outside, the odd-job man, whose face was flushed, swore. "I wish they were men!" he said vindictively: "if they were, I'd teach 'em a lesson in manners. By jove! I'd like to get even with——"

"Do not worry," said Mizzi soothingly. "After all, I am a young woman. Mesdames would give their ears to be the same."

Henry stopped dead, an idea having come upon him. With a growing light in his eye he surveyed the motor-car and the chauffeur, who in turn surveyed Mizzi with a gathering admiration. He even threw away the cigarette.

"I say," said Henry, "this isn't a private car?"

"No," said the chauffeur, glad of a chance further to admire this enchanting damsel. "General Motor-Car Company. Druv the ole gal down from London s'morning. Made me crawl, too."

"Driving her back?"

The chauffeur suppressed an instinct to spit disgustedly and said, "Yes, wuss luck." Mizzi observed them, wondering.

"What would you take," said Henry, breathing hard, "to drive us back instead?"

The chauffeur shook his head.

"I'd lose my job."

"Five pounds?" hinted Henry.

"A job's a job."

"I'll find you another."

"Garn!"

"Straight! I'm Henry Brown, taxicab proprietor, Bloomsbury. Is that good enough?"

"And a fiver?" stipulated the chauffeur, avaricious but cautious.

"Here you are," said Henry, diving into his pocket. A note changed hands, and the chauffeur assumed a bland demeanor. "Jump in!" he said concisely; "it's a bet!"

"Oh, but——" objected Mizzi, hanging back.

"Romance!" whispered Henry. "You said you liked it! Quick! Quick!"

She jumped in, smiling happily.

"You are a dear!"

"And you're a darling!" he said, getting in beside her and shutting the door. "Now, William, give 'em the horn and then London!"

Honk! Honk!

"Once more!"

Honk! Honk!

Mrs. Hedderwick appeared fretfully at the porch. "Do not make that exasperating noise!" she commanded. And then—"What! what impertinence—what——!"

"Higher up, William!" said Henry peacefully.

"Good-by, madam!" and he raised his hat. "There, my little foreigner; will that do?"

"Oh, Harry dear!"

And Harry dear had no time even to say "Good biz!"