on, at the further end of which stood the ancient
little church, and near it the comfortable old-world rectory.

Entering the gateway, I found myself in pretty, well-wooded and
well-kept grounds; the house itself, long, low, and covered with
trailing roses, was a typical English country rectory. Beyond that lay
a paddock, while in the distance the beautiful Harewood Forest showed
away upon the skyline.

Yes, Mr. Shuttleworth was at home, the neat maid told me, and I was
ushered into a long old-fashioned study, the French windows of which
opened out upon a well-rolled tennis-lawn.

The place smelt of tobacco-smoke. Upon the table lay a couple of
well-seasoned briars, and on the wall an escutcheon bearing its
owner's college arms. Crossed above the window was a pair of
rowing-sculls, and these, with a pair of fencing-foils in close
proximity, told mutely of long-past athletics. It was a quiet,
book-lined den, an ideal retreat for a studious man.

As my eyes travelled around the room, they suddenly fell upon a
photograph in a dark leather frame, the picture of a young girl of
seventeen or so, with her hair dressed low and secured by a big black
bow. I started at sight of it. It was the picture of Sylvia
Pennington!

I crossed to look at it more closely, but as I did so the door opened,
and I found myself face to face with the rector of Middleton.

He halted as he recognized me--halted for just a second in hesitation;
then, putting out his hand, he welcomed me, saying in his habitual
drawl--

"Mr. Biddulph, I believe?" and invited me to be seated.

"Ah!" I exclaimed, with a smile, "I see you recognize me, though we
were only passers-by on the Lake of Garda! I must apologize for this
intrusion, but, as a matter of fact, my servant Browning described a
gentleman who called upon me a few days ago, and I at once recognized
him to have been you. He was rather rude to you, I fear, and----"

"My dear fellow!" he interrupted, with a hearty, good-natured laugh.
"He only did his duty as your servant. He objected to my infernal
impertinence--and very rightly, too."

"It was surely no impertinence to call upon me!" I exclaimed.

"Well, it's all a question of one's definition of impertinence," he
said. "I made certain inquiries--rather searching inquiries regarding
you--that was all."

"Why?" I asked.

He moved uneasily in his padded writing-chair, then reached over and
placed a box of cigarettes before me. After we had