wards the town, wondering what took Leveson to
the church. No doubt he wanted to see if he were getting his money's
worth, to note the day's work, perhaps to give the lie to the
published statement that he built churches and never entered them.
Nearly half-an-hour had passed since I left Mrs. Panel.

When I reached the third turning to the left I saw the church,
certainly the handsomest in San Lorenzo. It stood in a large lot,
littered with builders' materials. The workmen had left it at six. The
building had an indescribably lifeless aspect. An hour before men had
been busy within and without it, now not a soul was to be seen. I had
time to walk round it, to note that the doors were locked, to note
also, quite idly, that the window of the vestry was open. I could see
no signs of Uncle Jap.

Coming round to the front, I saw in the distance a portly figure
approaching, followed by a thin, dust-coloured wraith of a woman. I
slipped behind a tree and waited. Leveson strolled up, bland and
imposing. He stood still for a moment, staring intently at the outside
of his church now completed. Then, taking a key from his pocket, he
opened the vestry door and entered the building, closing the door
behind him. I went to meet Mrs. Panel.

"Seen Jaspar?"

"I haven't."

"What's that feller," she always spoke of Leveson as a 'feller,'
"doin' in a church?"

"It's his church. He built it."

"Good Land o' Peter! What's he doin' in it anyway?"

"Not praying, I think."

"Shush-h-h-h."

Mrs. Panel touched my arm, thrusting out her lean face in an attitude
of intense attention. I strained my own ears, fairly good ones, but
heard nothing.

"Jaspar's in there," said his wife. "I hear his voice."

She trembled with excitement. Obviously, Jaspar had concealed himself
somewhere in the vestry. No time was to be lost.

Turning the north-east corner of the building, where the vestry is
situated, I crawled under the window, followed by Mrs. Panel. The two
men were within a few feet of us. Uncle Jap's slightly high-pitched
tones fell sharply upon the silence.

"This is a leetle surprise party, ain't it?" he was saying.

Leveson answered thickly: "What are you doing here, sir?"

Although I risked discovery at an inopportune moment, I could not
resist the temptation to raise my eyes level with the sill of the
window. So did Uncle Jap's Lily. We both peered in. Uncle Jap was
facing Leveson; in his hand he held the long-barrelled six-