"Well, for several reasons," was his slow, earnest reply. His face looked thinner, more serious. Somehow I had taken a great fancy to him, for though a clergyman, he struck me as a broad-minded man of the world. He was keen-eyed, thoughtful and earnest, yet at the same time full of that genuine, hearty bonhomie so seldom, alas! found in religious men. The good fellowship of a leader appeals to men more than anything else, and yet somehow it seems always more apparent in the Roman Catholic priest than in the Protestant clergyman. "The reason I called to-day was because I thought you might wish to speak to me," I said. He rose and closed the French windows. Then, re-seating himself, he removed his old briar pipe from his lips, and, bending towards me in his chair, said very earnestly-- "I wonder whether I might presume to say something to you strictly in private, Mr. Biddulph? I know that I ought not to interfere in your private affairs--yet, as a minister of religion, I perhaps am a slightly privileged person in that respect. At least you will, I trust, believe in my impartiality." "Most certainly I do, Mr. Shuttleworth," I replied, somewhat surprised at his manner. "Well, you recollect our conversation on the last occasion you were here?" he said. "You remember what I told you?" "I remember that we spoke of Miss Sylvia," I exclaimed, "and that you refused to satisfy my curiosity." "I refused, because I am not permitted," was his calm rejoinder. "Since I saw you," I said, "a dastardly attempt has been made upon my life. I was enticed to an untenanted house in Bayswater, and after a cheque for a thousand pounds had been obtained from me by a trick, I narrowly escaped death by a devilish device. My grave, I afterwards found, was already prepared." "Is this a fact!" he gasped. "It is. I was rescued--by Sylvia herself." He was silent, drawing hard at his pipe, deep in thought. "The names of the two men who made the dastardly attempt upon me were Reckitt and Forbes--friends of Sylvia Pennington," I went on. He nodded. Then, removing his pipe, exclaimed-- "Yes. I understand. But did I not warn you?" "You did. But, to be frank, Mr. Shuttleworth, I really did not follow you then. Neither do I now." "Have I not told you, my dear sir, that I possess certain knowledge under vow of absolute secrecy--knowledge which it is not permitted to me, as a servant of God, to divulge." "But surely if you knew that assassination was contemplated, it was your duty to warn me." "I did--but you took no heed," he declared. "Sylvia warned you also, when you met in Gardone, and yet you refused to take her advice and go into hiding!" "But why should an innocent, law-abiding, inoffensive man be compelled to hide himself like a fugitive from justice?" I protested.