Charred Wood

"My Lord," the priest began, "circumstances 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 reassurance. 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 Saturday, and telegraph Father Darcy to care for any sick calls in the meantime."

Mark lingered a moment as Father Murray passed 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 passed 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 Duchess and Ruth Atheson at the same time."

"Decidedly not."

"She is one or the other."

"Well?"

"Either there is no Duchess, 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 Duchess?"