ad hidden the face of the
Father which was in heaven, and the death he had waited for as the crown
of his life seemed to be no better than an abject end to a career that
had failed.

"Cheer up," said the officer; "I've some good news for you, at all
events."

The prisoner smiled sadly and shook his head.

"Bail was offered and accepted at Bow Street this morning, and you will
be at liberty to leave us to-day."

"When?" said John, and his manner changed immediately.

"Well, not just yet, you know."

"For the love of God, sir, let me go at once! I have something to
do-somebody to look for and find."

"Still, for your own security, Father----"

"But why?"

"Then you don't know that the mob sent a dog out in search of you 2"

"No, I didn't know that; but if all the dogs of Christendom----"

"There are worse dogs waiting for you than any that go on four legs, you
know."

"That's nothing, sir, nothing at all; and if bail has been accepted,
surely it is your duty to liberate me at once. I claim--I demand that you
should do so!"

The officer raised his eyes in astonishment. "You surprise me, Father.
After your calmness and patience and submission to authority too!"

John Storm remained silent for a moment, and then he said, with a
touching solemnity: "You must forgive me, sir. You are very
good--everybody is good to me here. Still, I am not afraid, and if you
can let me go----"

The officer left him. It was several hours before he returned. By this
time the long summer day had closed in, and it was quite dark.

"They think you've gone. You can leave now. Come this way."

At the door of the office some minutes afterward John Storm paused with
the officer's hand in his, and said:

"Perhaps it is needless to ask who is my bail" (he was thinking of Mrs.
Callender), "but if you can tell me----"

"Certainly. It was Sir Francis Drake."

John Storm bowed gravely and turned away. As he passed out of the yard
his eyes were bent on the ground and his step was slow and feeble.

* * * * *

At that moment Drake was on his way to the Corinthian Club. Early in the
afternoon he had seen this letter in the columns of an evening paper:

"The Mysterious Disappearances.--Is it not extraordinary that in
discussing 'the epidemic of mystery' which now fills the air of London it
has apparently never occurred to any one that the two mysterious
disappearances which are the text of so many sermo