mber that he had only
been a Catholic for about five months), and yet somehow, now that he had
come here, it all seemed inevitable. (I cannot put it better than that:
it is what he himself says in his diary.)

Then, as he meditated, the door opened, and there came in a thin,
eager-looking elderly man, dressed like the brother who followed him,
except that over his frock he wore a broad strip of black stuff,
something like a long loose apron, hanging from his throat to his feet,
and his head was enveloped in a black hood.

Frank stood up and bowed with some difficulty. He was beginning to feel
stiff.

"Well," said the priest sharply, with his bright gray eyes, puckered at
the corners, running over and taking in the whole of Frank's figure from
close-cut hair to earthy boots. "Brother James tells me you wish to see
me."

"It was Brother James who said so, father," said Frank.

"What is it you want?"

"I've got two friends on the road who want shelter--man and woman. We'll
pay, if necessary, but--"

"Never mind about that," interrupted the priest sharply. "Who are you?"

"The name I go by is Frank Gregory."

"The name you go by, eh?... Where were you educated?"

"Eton and Cambridge."

"How do you come to be on the roads?"

"That's a long story, father."

"Did you do anything you shouldn't?"

"No. But I've been in prison since."

"And your name's Frank Gregory.... F.G., eh?"

Frank turned as if to leave. He understood that he was known.

"Well--good-night, father--"

The priest turned with upraised hand.

"Brother James, just step outside."

Then he continued as the door closed.

"You needn't go, Mr.--er--Gregory. Your name shall not be mentioned to a
living being without your leave."

"You know about me?"

"Of course I do.... Now be sensible, my dear fellow; go and fetch your
friends. We'll manage somehow." (He raised his voice and rapped on the
table.) "Brother James ... go up with Mr. Gregory to the porter's lodge.
Make arrangements to put the woman up somewhere, either there or in a
gardener's cottage. Then bring the man down here.... His name?"

"Trustcott," said Frank.

"And when you come back, I shall be waiting for you here."

(III)

Frank states in his diary that an extraordinary sense of familiarity
descended on him as, half an hour later, the door of a cell closed
behind Dom Hildebrand Maple, and he found himself in a room with a
bright fire burning, a suit of clothes waitin