"Perhaps he was going to give Dad more banknotes," suggested the optimistic Stiffy. "More likely going to ask for change out of the first one," rejoined Ally, the cynic. "I expect he was going to complain about you making faces at him through the curtain, Nicky," coldly observed Cilly, who had not yet forgiven her small sister's innuendoes on the subject of Mr Robert Gill. "Rats!" demurred Nicky uneasily. "I didn't make faces. I expect he's only some tourist who wants to rub brasses, or sniff a vault, or something." "He must be a friend of Lord Kirkley's," said Ally, "because----" "_I'll_ show you who he is," shrilled a voice from the depth of a cupboard under the window. Tony, who had been grubbing among a heap of tattered and dusty literature in the bottom shelf, now rose to his feet and staggered across the room carrying an ancient but valuable copy of 'The Pilgrim's Progress,' embellished with steel engravings. Having deposited the volume upon the hearthrug he proceeded to hunt through its pages. Presently, with a squeal of delight, he placed a stumpy fore-finger upon a full-page illustration, and announced triumphantly-- "That's him!" The picture represented Christian's battle with Apollyon. Christian, hard pressed, had been beaten to his knees, and over him towered the figure of the Prince of Darkness, brandishing a sword and (in the most unsportsmanlike manner) emitting metallic-looking flames from his stomach. The children gathered round. "You are right, Tony," said Cilly at length, "it _is_ like him." Certainly Apollyon bore a sort of far-away resemblance to the late occupant of the Kirkley Abbey pew. "Look at his eyebrows," said Nicky, "they go straight up----" The churchyard gate clicked, and voices were heard in conversation outside. Daphne sped to the window. "Heavens!" she exclaimed in an agonised whisper, "Dad is bringing him in to lunch! Ally, take your boots off the mantelpiece! Nicky, pull up your stockings! Cilly, knock Dawks off the sofa! I must fly. I wonder if there's enough cream to make a trifle. Anyhow, the beef----" And she sped away kitchenwards like an agitated butterfly. A few minutes later the Rector appeared in the schoolroom, smiling joyously, with his hand resting lightly on the shoulder of the recently identified Apollyon. Tony was restoring 'The Pilgrim's Progress' to its shelf with the complacency of a second Bertillon.