"Her mother was my twin sister, and she herself has been as a daughter to me ever since I first saw her, a babe in arms," replied Father Murray. "Let us go."

Madame Neuville rushed toward the great house, but the two men stepped back through the tree and hurriedly returned to Siha.s.set.

CHAPTER XIV

THE INEXPLICABLE

Saunders, having selected the most comfortable chair in the hotel lobby, was dozing placidly when Mark rushed in, and shook the detective vigorously.

"Wake up," he called. "Will you come with me to Washington? When is there a train connecting with the Congressional Limited? Father Murray wants to catch that."

Saunders was alert in an instant.

"Sure, I'll go. Train leaves in fifty minutes; you get the Limited at the Junction--have to wait nearly an hour for the connection, though.

What's up?"

"Hurry! I'll tell you later. Pack only what you need. Here, you pay the bills." Mark shoved his purse into Saunders' hands. "Keep the rooms; we'll need them when we return. I'm off. Oh, yes! I forgot."

Mark stopped on his way to the stairs. "Telephone the Padre about the train."

In good time, Father Murray, Mark and Saunders stood at the end of the station platform, grips in hand.

"Now, open up," said Saunders. "What's wrong?"

Mark looked inquiringly at the priest. Father Murray briefly gave the detective a resume of what had occurred, including the information which had so stunned Mark Griffin, and now had an even more stunning effect on Saunders, the information regarding the priest's relationship to Ruth Atheson.

"But, Father, this looks like the impossible. It's unbelievable that these people could be mistaken about someone they had trailed from Europe. They were so sure about it that they killed that officer."

"Ruth Atheson is my sister's daughter, Mr. Saunders," was the only answer vouchsafed by the priest. He boarded the train, followed by his companions.

Saunders sat in puzzled silence till the junction point was reached.

Then the three alighted, and Father Murray turned to the detective.

"Mr. Saunders, I am going to ask a favor of you. I do not know how long I may be away, and my parish is unattended. The Bishop is here to-day on his Confirmation tour, and I am going to take Mr. Griffin with me and call on him. Will you remain here in charge of our effects?"

"Sure, Father. Go on." He glanced toward the bulletin board. "The Limited is late, and you have more than an hour yet. I'll telegraph for sleeper reservations."

Father Murray and Mark started out for the rectory. Very little was said on the way. The priest was sad and downcast, Mark scarcely less so.

"I almost fear to meet the Bishop, Mark," Father Murray remarked, as they approached the rectory, "after that shock the other day; but I suppose it has to be done."

The Bishop was alone in his room and sent for them to come up. There was a trace of deep sorrow in his att.i.tude toward the priest, joined to surprise at the visit. To Mark he was most cordial.

"My Lord," the priest began, "circ.u.mstances compel me to go to Washington for a few days, perhaps longer. My parish is unattended.

The matter which calls me is urgent. Could you grant me leave of absence, and send someone to take my place?"

The Bishop glanced at Mark before he answered. Mark met his gaze with a smile that was full of rea.s.surance. The Bishop seemed to catch the message, for he at once granted Father Murray's request.

"Certainly, Monsignore, you may go. I shall send a priest on Sat.u.r.day, and telegraph Father Darcy to care for any sick calls in the meantime."

Mark lingered a moment as Father Murray pa.s.sed out. The Bishop's eyes were appealing, and Mark could not help whispering:

"It will all come out right, Bishop. Cease worrying. When we return I think you will feel happier. Your message was carried to Monsignore."

At the station Saunders was waiting. "Everything is arranged," he announced. "I tried to get drawing-rooms or compartments, but they were all gone. The last was taken five minutes before I telephoned. I have sections for you both and a lower for myself. It was the best possible, so late."

When the train came in and they had disposed of their effects, Father Murray sat down and took out his breviary. Mark and Saunders, anxious for a smoke, sought the buffet car five coaches ahead. They sat down and Mark pa.s.sed the detective his cigarette case.

"Thanks, no," said Saunders. "I like the long black fellows best." He pulled a cigar out of his pocket and lighted it. He appeared nervous.

"Griffin," he said, after a long silence, "there is something peculiar about this whole business."

"Yes, I know that very well."

"It is quite a little more peculiar than you think. The abduction of the lady was no surprise to me. It is quite in line with what I expected. They had to get her somehow. The way they are supposed to have taken would probably look the best way to them."

"'Supposed to have taken?' What do you mean?"

"Easy now, I'm coming to that. This lady cannot be the d.u.c.h.ess and Ruth Atheson at the same time."

"Decidedly not."

"She is one or the other."

"Well?"

"Either there is no d.u.c.h.ess, or no Ruth Atheson."

"True; but I cannot question the Padre's word. That, at least, I know is good. Then, look at his distress."

"Sure, I know that. I have been looking. And I've been thinking till my brain whirls. The Padre wouldn't lie, and there's no reason why he should. But if the lady is Ruth Atheson, she is _not_ the d.u.c.h.ess?"

"N-no."

"Then why did they shoot that poor devil of an Italian? And why the abduction?"

"Oh, I don't know, Saunders." Mark spoke wearily.

"Whoever she is, she can't be in two places at one time, can she?"

"For heaven's sake, Saunders!" Mark's look was wild, his weariness gone. "What are you driving at? You'll have my brain reeling, too.

What is it now?"

"I thought I'd get you," coolly retorted Saunders. "Here's where the mystery gets so deep that it looks as if no one can ever fathom it."

He paused.