Locum-Tenens

HE rain lashed down, another gust of wind came whooping round a corner, and the motor-bicycle skidded skittishly right across the glistening road.

"Near shave that time, old soul!" observed Mr. Archibald Wade over his shoulder as the staggering machine started forward again with a flick of its tail.

The gentleman addressed, Mr. James Pryor, who for the last two hours had been enduring the acme of human discomfort upon the luggage-carrier, with his arms twined affectionately round his friend's waist, made no reply. Instead, he vacated his seat, and assumed a recumbent posture under an adjacent hedge. The motor-bicycle, unexpectedly lightened of half its burden, whizzed on its way, firing a salvo of exultant farewells from its exhaust.

In due course it returned, trundled by its owner, who addressed the prostrate James reprovingly:

"It was silly of you to fall off with white flannel bags on, my little friend. You are in a horrid mess."

"You look a bit of a tike yourself," rejoined the injured James.

"True, true," acquiesced Archibald, placidly, as he looked down upon his mud-splashed legs. "The fact is, it is a mistake to try and ride forty miles on a mobike in tennis things. In any case, this putrid back tire has just gone flat. Do you remember what the last mile-stone said?"

"Popleigh, one mile," growled James.

"That is splendid."

"What earthly use is Popleigh to us? We want to go to Tuckleford."

"Tuckleford is fifteen miles away. We can't get there, and we could n't play tennis if we did."

"I know, but—"

"But what?"

James hesitated and reddened.

"Well, if you must know, my best girl will probably be there."

"What, Dorothy? The Dorothy?"

James, with the rain streaming down his face, nodded dismally.

"Yes," he said; "that was why I suggested we should go."

Archibald considered.

"Take comfort," he said at length. "We will push this condemned sewing-machine"—he indicated the motor-bicycle—"to Popleigh. There we will obtain food and clothing, and I will repair the tire. In the afternoon, if it clears up, I will convey you to Dorothy."

"How can we get food and clothing at Popleigh?" demanded the irritable James. "Have you ever been in the place in your life?"

"Never."

"Then why on earth—"

"Do you remember the Old Flick?"

"You mean Flick Windrum of Trinity Hall?"

"The same."

"Yes. What about him? Became a dodger, did n't he? Curate in Kensington or something."

"Not now. I have just remembered that he wrote to me a year ago, saying that he had received a push-up—preferment. He now has a cure of souls in Popleigh. We will drop in on him and get our clothes dried. Then, hey for Dorothy!"

"Archie," observed James, not without admiration, "you are quite mad."

"I know," replied Archibald, complacently. "Come on."

motor-bicycle, now hand-propelled, drew up at the gate of Popleigh vicarage, which stood in a spacious garden, a riot of roses and honeysuckle, under the lee of an ancient Norman church. Simultaneously the summer storm passed, the clouds broke, and the hot July sun broke out hospitably.

Archibald wheeled the bicycle up to the front door and rang the bell. After repeating the performance three times, he turned to his depressed companion.

"I wonder where the old sinner can be," he remarked.

"Nothing doing here," replied James, through chattering teeth. "Let's go and find the village pub."

"Peradventure," suggested Archibald, upon whose receptive soul the ecclesiastical atmosphere was already taking effect, "he is upon a journey or sleepeth. What?"

He tried the handle of the door.

"Locked," he announced.

"Let's go round to the back," said the practical James.

The procession, now steaming comfortably, moved off again. The back door was also locked. Upon the panel was pinned a fluttering scrap of paper that said, tout court, "Bak at 3."

"I wonder who wrote that," said James.

"From the spelling," replied Archibald, "I should say it was the Flick; but as it is on the back door and not the front, I suspect it was the cook. Flick has taken the little creature out for a brisk country walk, depend upon it. Still, I know he would resent any attempt on our part to give him the go-by, so we must get in. Let us find a window."

The windows upon the ground floor were all closed, but one stood open above the porch. With the assistance of the faithful James, Archibald clambered up the trellis-work, and presently effected his burglarious purpose. A moment later he opened the front door with a flourish, and admitted his reluctant companion. There ensued a tour of inspection.

"Dining-room!" announced Archibald, opening a door. "We will lay the table presently. Study—very snug! We will smoke there after lunch. Kitchen! Aha! this is where we commandeer supplies! But first of all, you, my dear James, will go up-stairs and have a warm bath, taking care to wet your head first, while I raid the Old Flick's dressing-room. Run along, or you will contract a rheum."

James, who seldom argued with his eccentric friend in this mood, departed meekly up-stairs. Twenty minutes later, emerging greatly refreshed from the bath-room, draped in a towel, he was confronted by a saintly figure in impeccable clerical attire.

"Pax vobiscum!" chanted Archibald, in a throaty tenor. "What do you think of my kit? It's a hazardous feat, buttoning one's collar at the back." He revolved slowly on his toes. "Pretty good fit, on the whole. I expected to find it rather big for me, but Flick appears to have shrunk. James, I am it! Let us go down-stairs and find the harmonium and sing 'Greenland's Icy Mountains.' "

"Dry up," advised James, "and tell me where I can get some clothes. Do you mean to say that I am to make a holy show of myself, too?"

"Unfortunately not," replied Archibald. "This is the only parsonical outfit that I can find; probably it is what the Flick wears on Sunday. It's a pity; if we could have found another, we might have gone on the music-hall stage together and called ourselves the Heavenly Twins. We could have worked up the Thirty-Nine Articles into a cross- talk dialogue—"

"Do you mean to say there are no more clothes in the house?" demanded the exasperated James, who was in no mood to bandy irreverences.

"There is nothing in the dressing-room; but root about a bit in the larder or the hen-house, and you may find something. In the last extremity you can lunch in that bath-towel. Meanwhile I will lay the table."

Archibald bounded down-stairs, his coat-tails flying. The disconsolate James tried another door. This time he found himself in what was plainly the spare bed-room. The blinds were drawn; the bed was draped in a dust-sheet; the jug stood upon its head in the basin. Under a heap of clerical vestments in the wardrobe he discovered an old blue flannel suit, evidently a relic of the Flick's secular existence. With this he returned to the dressing-room, and, having helped himself to a cricket-shirt and a pair of socks, proceeded to invest himself in his borrowed plumes. They were a tight fit, for James was a large man.

"I wonder what that lunatic is doing down-stairs," he mused. "I hope he has made up the kitchen fire, so that we can dry our things. I can't face Dolly in this rig. Hallo! What's that?"

From the garden outside came the toot of a motor-horn, then a burring, and popping right under the window, then silence.

Down-stairs, Archibald, depositing a fine ham upon the dining-room table, tip-toed to the window and peeped through the curtain. Outside the front door stood another motor-cycle, this time with a side-car. Within the porch, through the latticework, he could descry two persons. One, a female, was disencumbering her head of a voluminous motor-veil; the other, a male, was ringing the front-door bell.

After a hurried glance at his own ensemble in the mirror over the mantelpiece, Archibald strode into the hall and opened the front door.

"Good morning," he said.

The male caller returned the greeting. He was a slightly built and rather romantic-looking young man, with dark and roving eyes. Archibald's first impression of him was that his hair required cutting.

"I trust you will pardon me," he said, "for coming to the door myself; but"—a new inspiration came upon him as he spoke—"my servant is up-stairs."

"Are you the incumbent of this parish?" inquired the young man in a rather hectoring voice.

"I am his locum-tenens," replied Archibald, blandly. "Won't you come in?"

All this while the girl in the motor-veil had stood silent, with her large, blue eyes fixed rather apprehensively upon Archibald. She had a baby face and an abundance of fair hair. Archibald mentally diagnosed her as an impressionable infant, without sufficient knowledge or discrimination to be aware that one must never be seen in public with a young man whose hair requires cutting.

He ushered his visitors into the study. Even as he crossed the hall he was aware of the agitated and inquiring countenance of James, suspended in mid-air, like Mohammed's coffin, over the banisters of the upper landing.

"And now," he inquired, taking up his rôle with great gusto, as the couple seated themselves upon the sofa, "what can I do for you this lovely summer day?"

He leaned back in the Flick's swing-chair, smiling paternally. He was picking up the clerical manner very readily, he thought. That bit about the summer day was capital.

The young man with the long hair gave a staccato cough.

"We desire," he said, "that you should marry us."

"Quite so," replied Archibald, aware of a slight shortness of breath. "Er—to each other, I presume?"

The young man, after a brief stare, nodded his head.

"And when would you like the ceremony to take place?" continued Archibald, instinctively playing for time.

"At once," said the young man.

Archibald turned inquiringly to the girl.

"Is that also your wish?" he asked, smiling.

The girl, crimson to the collar of her blouse, whispered:

"Yes, please."

, pandemonium.

"I tell you it's little Dolly Venner!" reiterated the distracted James, upon whose toilet Archibald had broken in with the news of the emergency. "My girl! And she's doing a bolt with that long-haired bounder!"

"What is his name?"

"Lionel Gillibrand or something. I don't know much about him, but he has been hanging round her ever since she and I had a row last November."

"Oh, you had a row, had you?" said Archibald, becoming severely judicial. "What was it about?"

"I 've no notion. You know what girls are. We were half engaged, but only half; and I suppose I took things too much for granted. Anyhow, we had a bit of a turn-up, and she bunged me out for good and all. I have n't seen her since, and being down here with you, and knowing she would probably be at the tennis party, I had meant to go over to Tuckleford to-day and try to get her to make it up. And now she's eloping with a fellow like an Angora goat!"

The unhappy young man raised clenched hands to heaven.

"Nothing could be more fortunate," remarked Archibald, calmly. "Your jacket will go under the arms if you do that, old son."

"Fortunate? What do you mean?"

"I purpose," announced Archibald, with great cheerfulness, "to extricate your little friend from her present predicament."

"Predicament? She's doing it of her own free will."

"She may have started out of her own free will, but she's scared to death now. This marriage shall not take place."

"What are you going to do? Refuse to marry them?" inquired James, with gloomy sarcasm.

"No, I don't think I shall refuse. If I do, they will only go to some one else, which would be a pity, because some one else might marry them, which I, not being a parson, can't do in any circumstances. Ergo, she is safest in my hands."

"That's true," admitted James, more hopefully. "What are you going to do?"

"I have n't the faintest notion," replied Archibald, serenely, "but I have no doubt that something will occur to me. For the present I shall temporize. It won't do to put that little person's back up. I should say she was the sort who would cut off her nose to spite her face."

"She is," agreed James, with feeling.

"Meanwhile," continued Archibald, "I have invited them to luncheon. I shall probably think of something during the meal. I'm afraid I can't ask you to join us—in the circumstances. But you shall come in and wait."

"Wait?" gasped the horrified James. "Wait?"

"Yes. It would add a spice of excitement to the proceedings. It is most unlikely that she will as much as look at you, much less recognize you: she is far too agitated to notice anything. Still, she might; and that is where the excitement would come in. You need n't play about the room. Just come in to clear away, and so on. I shall disguise you a little. There is a pair of blue spectacles lying on the study table,—Flick must have taken to glasses,—you can wear them. You might also wear a handkerchief tied round your jaw, and I 'll explain that you have got toothache or leprosy or something."

"How long is this tomfool entertainment to go on?" inquired James, bitterly.

"Till I think of something better, or until the Old Flick turns up. Well, come along when you 're ready."

Leaving his indignant friend to splutter out impotent refusals, the irresponsible Archibald descended the stairs in a restrained ecstasy of joyous anticipation, and entered the study with a benevolent smile. The lovers were holding hands upon the sofa.

"Now for luncheon," he said genially. "Lenten fare, I fear, but a warm welcome goes with it."

"This is not Lent," Mr. Gillibrand pointed out. He was a precise young man, besides having long hair.

"Some of us," said Archibald, gently, "keep Lent all the year round, Mr. Gillibrand."

Luncheon, considering the disasters which might have occurred, passed off surprisingly well. The distrait Dorothy seldom lifted her eyes from her plate, and entirely failed to pierce the disguise or even note the presence of her late beloved. James took courage. Held bound by a melancholy fascination, he remained constantly in the room, handing bread and ham and stone ginger, but refraining from speech.

"Had you a pleasant ride, Mr. Gillibrand?" asked Archibald.

"We had a fairly swift one, thanks," replied Mr. Gillibrand, languidly. "I wish I had had my car, though, instead of a hired motor-cycle. Still, we were doing thirty-five or forty through that last ten-mile limit, I should think."

"Leo is a dreadfully reckless driver," said Dorothy, with timid admiration. "I was terrified."

She smiled in a half-hypnotized fashion at the intrepid Leo, who replied with a proprietary ogle. Archibald disliked him more and more. He wore short side-whiskers, after the ultra-chic mode of the moment, together with a peculiar tie of art silk which was fastened in a large bow, after going twice round his neck and crossing at the back. He looked like what he was, an unsuccessful compromise between Chelsea and Montmartre.

"Forty miles an hour!" exclaimed Archibald, shaking a playful finger. "What will my parishioners say? I hope you did not run over any of them."

"We got two or three ducklings outside a cottage about a mile from here," replied the daredevil Gillibrand, nonchalantly. "A bumpkin of a policeman saw us, and had the impudence to blow his whistle."

"You ought to have stopped, Leo," said Dorothy.

Mr. Gillibrand replied with a languishing smile, which brought a blush to Dorothy's cheek and nearly converted a chocolate "shape," which James was handing round, from a comestible into a missile. Simultaneously inspiration came to Archibald.

"Now, my dear young people," he announced, leaning back in his chair and fitting the tips of his fingers together after the traditional manner of stage clerics, "with regard to the—ah—pleasant ceremony which is to take place this afternoon, I have already explained to you that certain formalities will be necessary—connected with a special license, and Doctor's Commons, and the Archbishop of Canterbury, and so on. Mere matters of form; but you know what red tape is! John!"

James, a little uneasy at being directly addressed, came to attention.

"Bring me the telegraph-forms from my desk, please," said Archibald. "I purpose to telegraph to his Grace for the necessary permission," he explained as James departed. "As I say, it is a purely mechanical business; I need not even give your names. Thank you, Ja—John. Put on your hat, like a good fellow, and be ready to take this telegram to the village. Let me see: Cantuar, London, is sufficient address, I think. Now for the message." He scribbled a sentence, and handed the form to his dazed friend. "Can you read it, John?"

James glanced through the message. It said:

"Tell village policeman that man who ran over ducklings is here."

"Is that clear, John?" asked Archibald.

James uttered a muffled sound, and departed.

"A strange, reticent fellow," explained Archibald to his guests; "but a heart of gold, and suffers terribly with his tonsils. Shall we go into the garden? The birds are singing. Lovely, is it not?"

He cooed, and rose to his feet.

"The answer to the telegram," he said, "should be here within the hour, leaving ample margin for the ceremony. I also expect a clerical friend about that time. Doubtless he will be glad to assist me, and so make assurance doubly sure."

He led the way into the garden, comporting himself meanwhile in a manner suggestive sometimes of the Rev. Robert Spalding, sometimes of Mr. Fairchild, sometimes of a sprightly and well-nourished lamb. He was still in a condition of utter ignorance as to how this escapade was to end; but he intended, if all else failed, to heap the solution of the problem upon the unsuspecting shoulders of the Old Flick. Meanwhile, he calculated, the village policeman would add an artistic element of complication to the day's entertainment.

Suddenly, as he strolled with his guests down an aisle of high hollyhocks, he heard a crunching sound upon the gravel. Across the hollyhocks he perceived a small governess-cart, drawn by a fat, gray pony, grinding its way round the corner of the house in the direction of the stable. The driver of the cart had his back turned, but Archibald could see that he wore a soft, black clerical hat.

The Old Flick! The deus in machina! "I rather fancy that is my dear friend Windrum," he said. "Permit me to leave you for a moment. You have doubtless much to discuss." He smiled archly. "The raspberries are at your disposal."

With a pontifical gesture of farewell Archibald turned and stalked majestically in the direction of the house. This would be a surprise for the Old Flick!

He entered the house softly. Before him in the hall stood the tall, black-coated figure of the gentleman to whom he was acting as understudy. His back was turned, and he was gazing dumbly through the dining-room door at the debris of the recent feast.

His attention was distracted from the spectacle by a shattering blow in the spine, followed by a thunderous greeting in hearty voice.

He whirled round. He was not the Old Flick at all.

"Good afternoon," said Archibald, with a seraphic smile. "I consider it very kind of you to have called. Come into the study, won't you?"

The stranger, a severe-looking man about fifty, wearing spectacles over which  his beetling brows bent threateningly, followed the hospitable Archibald into study, and shut the door with great deliberation.

"My name," he said, "is Septimus Pontifex."

"I am very glad to make your acquaintance, Pontifex," said Archibald, cordially. And reaching down a box from the mantelpiece, he offered Septimus one of his own cigarettes.

"May I inquire," said Mr. Pontifex in a low, vibrating voice, "what you are doing in my house?"

"Your house? Come, I like that!" replied Archibald, with an indulgent smile.

"You are pleased to be facetious, sir," retorted Mr. Pontifex, angrily. His spinal chord was still quivering from Archibald's playful slap. "If this house is not my actual property, it is mine in effect so long as I remain Mr. Windrum's locum-tenens."

So that was it! Archibald surveyed the swelling figure before him thoughtfully. He had better explain at once. No; on second thought he would wait a little. This was evidently a quarrelsome and inhospitable fellow, very different from the Flick, unworthy of great consideration. What would be a good way—

He was recalled from his meditations by the alarming demeanor of Mr. Pontifex. For the last half-minute his gaze had been concentrated upon a small, crimson, circular object upon the right-hand leg of Archibald's trousers. It was a spot of sealing-wax. Now he pointed a trembling finger, and almost screamed!

"What do you mean, sir, by wearing my clothes? I recognize my trousers; do not deny it! I spilt that sealing-wax last night. I know they are mine."

"Really, Pontifex, really!" expostulated Archibald, gently. "I had heard stories, of course, but I had no idea it was as bad as this. No wonder the dear bishop was getting anxious! My poor friend, can't you do anything—anything? My heart bleeds for you."

He shook his head mournfully.

For a moment Pontifex gazed at him in speechless amazement, and then turned and walked swiftly out of the room and up-stairs. Presently he could be heard overhead, seeking confirmatory evidence in his rifled dressing-room.

Archibald lit a cigarette and waited.

Presently Septimus Pontifex came striding down-stairs again. He stood in the doorway.

"You are a thief, sir," he announced, "and an impostor. I do not know who you are or where you come from, but I presume that the motor-bicycle which I noticed in the stable is yours. I shall now lock you in here, and send for a constable."

"Do not put yourself to such trouble, my dear Mr. Pontifex," replied Archibald. "I have already done so."

He led the bemused Pontifex to the window.

"In fact," he added, "I think I see him coming."

was still enough of a child to appreciate being let loose among the raspberry-canes. But this afternoon her appetite was gone, which was not altogether surprising. Eloping is like riding a bicycle: you must go full speed ahead all the time, or you will begin to wobble. Dorothy was of a romantic disposition and barely twenty. She had been attracted by Mr. Gillibrand's dark eyes and lofty soul, and the fact that a peppery papa and a Philistine elder brother had described her Galahad as an effeminate young puppy and a mangy little swine respectively had been quite sufficient to persuade her that she loved him to distraction. But, as already indicated, you cannot take an elopement andante. Dorothy was wobbling badly. The sunny, peaceful garden did not soothe her at all. She wanted to cry.

Furtively, almost fearfully, she peeped through the surrounding foliage in search of her beloved. He was wandering—one had almost said slouching—among the rose-beds. Suddenly he raised his head and gave a startled glance in the direction of the house. Then he ducked, and running With incredible swiftness in the attitude of a red Indian on a war-trail, dived into a rhododendron-bush and disappeared from sight.

Dorothy was too astounded to move or even cry out. Then she heard the thump of elephantine feet moving deliberately over the grass, and the next moment there appeared before her a policeman, the largest policeman she had ever seen.

Now, although we are pleased to be humorous upon the subject of policemen in music-hall songs and the like, it is in a spirit of pure bravado. Secretly we are all afraid of policemen; our upbringing at the hands of unscrupulous under-nurses has insured that. Whether we are stealing jam or engaging in an elopement, the policeman is ever in our thoughts. Dorothy trembled guiltily.

The policeman addressed her. He was a stout, jolly-looking man, and in his leisure moments was much in request as a minder of the baby. He was painfully aware of this infirmity, and in the execution of his duty endeavored to nullify it by assuming an air of intense importance and solemnity. He spoke in a deep monotone, and his language was formal and official.

"Afternoon, miss. I am informed that the gentleman what passed through Popleigh village about twelve-thirty to-day, riding a motor-cycle with side-car attached, is on these premises. Can you give me information as to his whereabouts?"

"He is somewhere about the garden, I think," gasped Dorothy.

The policeman thanked her, and passed on.

Dorothy watched him out of sight, and then turned and ran blindly. Leo was in deadly danger. Where was her kindly host? He must be informed at once. Perhaps he would be able to confound the policeman with a telegram from the Archbishop of Canterbury.

She fluttered breathlessly round the corner of a hedge, and ran straight into the arms of Mr. James Pryor. He no longer wore spectacles or bandages.

Dorothy started back, with a hysterical little cry.

"Jim!" she whispered. "You!" "Yes," said Jim, simply, "just me."

Dorothy gave him both her hands.

"Jim dear," she said, "I'm in trouble. I'm frightened."

James looked round, and espied an adjacent summer-house.

"Step into the consulting-room," he said.

Rev. Septimus Pontifex, too bewildered to speak, walked giddily across the grass. Archibald accompanied him. Ten yards behind, cautiously came an elderly female carrying three dead ducklings.

The policeman had just extracted Lionel Gillibrand from the rhododendron-bush, and having produced a note-book, and pencil from the interior of his tunic, was embarking upon a searching, but stereotyped, inquiry into his prisoner's identity and antecedents.

"Your name and address?" he repeated.

"You have no right to ask me," persisted Lionel, uneasily. "The law cannot touch me in this matter."

"Your name and address?" reiterated the policeman, with the steady insistency of a man who has the whole British Constitution at his back.

"You had better give it, Mr. Gillibrand," advised the apoplectic clergyman.

Lionel complied sulkily.

"I say again,"' he added, "that the law cannot touch me in the matter. There was no compulsion or undue influence. It was a purely voluntary act."

The policeman, determined not to be obfuscated by irrelevant verbiage, plowed on.

"I must ask you to show me your license," he said.

In a flash Lionel's courage came back.

"Certainly," he replied triumphantly. "I have a special license."

The policeman scratched his ear in a puzzled fashion, and then resorted to sarcasm.

"Special?" he said slowly. "What may a special license be? Does it include liddle ducklin's?"

It was Mr. Gillibrand's turn to be puzzled.

"Ducklings?" he repeated, then added with sudden fury, "Are you referring to my future—"

"I'm referrin'," said the policeman, doggedly, "to your license."

"I tell you I have a special license," shouted Lionel—"coming from the Archbishop of Canterbury." He turned to Archibald. "Have you got the telegram yet, sir?" he inquired feverishly.

"Not yet," replied Archibald.

"Touchin' this license," persisted the unimpressed policeman, "I don't see what the Archbishop of Canterbury has got to do with liddle ducklin's. But, Mrs. Challice, will you step this way?"

The elderly female with the corpses, who had been standing respectfully aloof, glided mechanically forward.

"I was a-sittin' outside of my door, sir—" she began rapidly to Archibald.

"You will be charged—" announced the policeman to Mr. Gillibrand.

"Hallo, what's that?" exclaimed Archibald.

From the drive before the front door came a whirring and a popping.

"It's my motor-cycle!" screamed Lionel.

"B.F., seven-oh-two," corroborated the policeman, grimly. "I've got your number. Here, stop!"

Gillibrand tore across the grass in the direction of the drive, with the policeman hard upon his heels, followed, longo intervallo, by the owner of the ducklings. He arrived in time to see his motor-cycle, carrying two passengers, swing out of the vicarage gate to the road, and speed away, with one derisive toot, in the direction of Tuckleford and home.

Still he ran—

two clerical gentlemen were left face to face. Mr. Pontifex cleared his throat and began at once.

"Sir," he said, "I insist upon an immediate explanation. You have broken into my house, you are masquerading in my clothes, you have apparently entertained a party of friends to luncheon in my dining-room—you have now involved me in a grotesque and inexplicable brawl between a village policeman and an escaped criminal, to whom you have apparently promised a dispensation from the Archbishop of Canterbury. If you can explain all these circumstances, I shall be extremely grateful to you."

Archibald laid a sudden hand on Mr. Pontifex's shoulder, and smiled upon him frankly and disarmingly.

"Sir," he said, "you are right. I owe you both explanation and apology. My name is Archibald Wade, and I have the reputation among my friends of being an irresponsible lunatic. If you wish for corroboration on this point, I refer you to our common friend Windrum, whose duties you appear to have undertaken for the moment."

"For a month, to be precise. He is away on holiday."

Thereupon Archibald told the whole story. He was a born raconteur, be it said. Long before he had finished, the severity of Mr. Pontifex's expression relaxed; his austere features twitched; his eyes began to twinkle behind his spectacles; and ultimately he was constrained to it down upon a rustic bench and have his laugh out.

He was still laughing when the policeman returned, leading Lionel captive.

"I 've got him, gentlemen," panted the policeman. Then, severely, to his prisoner: "Trying to escape amounts to resisting of the police in the execution of their duty. That makes things more serious." Out came the note-book once more. "You will now be charged with driving through Popleigh village to the common danger, exceeding the speed limit, running over three liddle ducklings, refusing to stop when requested to do so by a police officer, and resisting of the police by trying to run away."

"Do you mean to say," Gillibrand inquired slowly, "that that is all?"

"Enough, too," rejoined the policeman.

"But I thought you—"

Here Archibald intervened swiftly.

"Yes," he said, regarding Mr. Lionel Gillibrand steadily between the eyes, "that is all. If you have anything else on your conscience—well, forget it! See?"

Gillibrand was a poltroon, but he was no fool. He took the hint.

"All right," he said sulkily. Subsequently he was merely fined forty shillings and costs by an unromantic bench for running over three "liddle ducklings" in Popleigh village.

Dorothy's name never came into the matter at all, and to this day her share in the transaction is known only to four persons, Archibald, Mr. Pontifex, Gillibrand, and her husband.