table-boy later on that evening. He felt sure that the story was
no mere willful fiction. When they were home he wrote a letter to
Smythe asking him if he could come over and smoke after dinner.
Then he went off to his sunset Evensong.

Conyers Smythe came about an hour afterwards. The Bishop and he
had had but two bookish evenings together since that rather
bizarre one in Christmas week. They met cordially enough on this
April night.

Smythe was looking far from well. He had been worried about his
wife's health she was away in England. The last news of it had
been rather disquieting. Smythe was glad enough of sympathy; he
was in no truculent mood.

They smoked by the fire in the Bishop's study as the night was
cold. The Bishop had some new books to show and points to debate.

The two began with Greek pagan cults, but passed on to Christian
hagiology, and discussed the legend of St. Mark with a fair
measure of agreement. Then, when the coffee had come in, and they
had I become friends at ease and amity, the Bishop told Smythe
the boys' tale.

Smythe grew curiously white and seemed angry.

Then he laughed. 'Let's have 'em in and hear their yarn!' he
said.

So Jack and Jim were sent for, and, after some slight delay,
appeared. They were well washed and in their Sunday clothes. They
were disposed to be deferential enough, but withal very
confident, both of them. They cast somewhat awed glances at
Smythe in his armchair, but they told their tale clearly on the
whole, in fair Biblical English, Jack first, slowly, and Jim, at
a great pace, after his superior. Smythe appeared to be busily
consulting a reference while Jim was ending. There was a pause.
Then the guest looked up from his book and stated his alibi: 'I
was in my stable, sitting up with a sick horse,' he said. 'I came
away long after the church service was over when the poor beast
died with frothing at the nose. You can ask my stable-boy.'

Jack bowed his head respectfully. 'Your stableboy, Mutenu, has
told me so this evening,' he said. 'But, O master, why should we
lie? Is it not known that people have been seen in two places at
one time'?'

Smythe frowned. He was not anxious to discuss hypotheses with
natives. Then the Bishop told the boys that he had heard enough.
Let them think that although they had spoken truth, they had been
mistaken.

'How do you explain it?' said the Bishop rather eagerly when they
had gone out.

'O,' said Smythe with a ra