She nodded.

"Well, then," he continued, "please answer me this question. Where was your brother the first week in May?"

"In Scotland."

"Why did he go?"

"For absolute rest. He was worried and run down."

"You heard from him frequently?"

"No, not once during the whole time. Sir Joseph Westmoreland, the great London nerve specialist, who advised the change, even prohibited correspondence."

"You're sure he was in Scotland?"

"Really, Mr. Marchmont, why do you ask?"

"Because I saw the Bishop of Blanford in the United States in the first week of May on his way to Montreal, Canada."

"Impossible!"

"I'm certain of it."

"I cannot credit what you tell me!"

"What I tell you is quite true. You say he was absent for a month. Might he not have gone to the States and returned in that time?"

His sister nodded. Then, as a sudden thought occurred to her, she flushed red with anger, exclaiming:

"And this girl, this Miss Arminster! Was she in Montreal also?"

"She was," replied Marchmont. "I saw her."

"The hussy!" cried Miss Matilda, rising. "She shan't remain in my house another hour!"

"Hold on!" he exclaimed. "You forget your promise!"

"But after what you've said!"

"I haven't said anything. Miss Arminster's being in Montreal might have been merely a coincidence."

"But do you know something about her?"

"I've investigated her career," he replied, "and have found nothing objectionable in it, beyond the fact that she's rather fond of getting married."

"Getting married! But surely she calls herself _Miss_ Arminster?"

"Ah, yes; but that's very common on the--I mean, not unusual in such cases."

"She has been married, then, more than once?"

"I know of a dozen different occasions on which she has had the service performed."

"Infamous!"

"Oh, no. There's no evidence of her ever having been through the divorce court. Indeed, she may never have been married to more than one man at the same time."

"But how to account--"

"For the mortality in husbands? Well, fortunately, we're not required to do that."

"I will not have my dear brother stricken down in his prime!" gasped Miss Matilda.

"Oh, I don't suppose she's necessarily fatal. Still, as mistress of Blanford--"

The Bishop's sister arose in her wrath. For the first time in her existence she wanted to swear, but contented herself by remarking:

"That young woman leaves the palace to-day!"

"You forget your promise to me," he said.

"But is it possible, in the face of what you've told me, that you can hold me to it?"

"Quite possible. In fact I mean to do so, and as soon as your righteous indignation cools down a bit you'll realise that we've nothing whatsoever to go on. What I've said could only be substantiated by evidence requiring some time to obtain. If you accused her now, she'd merely deny my statement, and her word's as good as mine, and probably better, in his Lordship's estimation."

"But is there no proof near at hand?"

"Yes. She was married several years ago at a little church close by the ruined abbey where I first met your party, and the fact is recorded in the register."

"Then surely--"

"There's no crime in being married once," he objected.

"But what _can_ we do?" she asked.

"Keep quiet for a little while longer. Miss Arminster's certain to make some slip, and then--"

"It seems very difficult to wait."

"Believe me," he replied, "it's the only way, and I shall rely on your promise."

Saying which, he left her, partly because he had obtained all the information he wished, and partly because he was certain that he espied the well-known figure of the tramp hovering behind the bushes on the opposite side of the lawn.

A few moments later he had his hand on that individual's collar, and was demanding sternly what he meant by coming to Blanford against his orders.

"'Cause I've somethin' of importance to tell yer," retorted that worthy.

"Well, out with it, quick!" said the journalist. "It's got to be pretty important to excuse your disobedience."