"Don't be in such a beastly hurry. It's not love ... it's not love, I
tell you. Just a superlative esteem for your splendid wife.... Your
_wife_," he added with a martyr's sigh. And then he raised the tankard,
feeling that it ought to hold Tokay. "Here's to her!" he murmured,
drinking deep. He put the pewter down, but raised it again. "And to you,
old chap!" he added generously. "... Hullo! there's none left. Beg
pardon."

As he finished, the door opened and admitted a chubby little clergyman,
who sat down with a courteous "Good morning!" Lionel made haste to
remove his legs from the bench. The landlord followed close upon the
heels of the newcomer. "Morning, sir," said the landlord respectfully.
"Will you take anything?"

"Draught cider. Half a pint," said the clergyman briskly. The landlord
disappeared, and he turned, smiling. "You should try the cider of The
Happy Heart," he said--"that is, if you have not done so already. I
allow myself that as a concession to the flesh."

"And a sensible concession, too," replied Lionel heartily. He was
pleased that a gentleman in Holy Orders did not think it undignified to
drink in a common "pub." "I have been drinking beer, and very good it
is--or was. But I must try the cider, if I remain here."

"Staying long?" asked the other pleasantly. And when Lionel said,
guardedly, that he had not quite settled yet, the clergyman did not
pursue the question, but passed on to other themes. "I am the local
parson," he said chattily. "My name is Peters." As he spoke the landlord
came back with the clerical cider and a telegram.

"Does your name happen to be Mortimer, sir?" he asked. "Because if so,
this here telegram is for you."

"It is," said Lionel in some surprise. The wire could only be from
Beatrice, but he had not expected any communication from her as yet.
With a brief apology he opened the yellow envelope and read its
contents. It was all he could do to keep from betraying his
astonishment. The wire read as follows:--

"Hope you had pleasant journey. My suspicions deepen. Try stay
Arkwright twin. Suspect even her. Wait further wire.--BLAIR."

He read the telegram three times, but it was not till the third reading
that he grasped the import of "Arkwright twin." He knew no one of the
name of Arkwright, nor had he ever claimed acquaintance with a twin.
"The nearest I could do is triplets," he thought. "Johnson of the House
was a triplet, I remember, but that's no goo