"I can, I will," said the bishop. "I will use my brains." It was a happy thought. The bishop mused. There was a knock at the outer door. It was a double, a telegraphic knock. "From the duchess?" asked the bishop. "From Bob, or I am a bishop," said the peer. And Ridley gave him a telegram. Bradstock read it slowly, lifted his eyebrows, rubbed his handsome white head, and handed it to the bishop. "From Bob, bishop, a very remarkable Bobbish document." The bishop read it. "It certainly is a remarkable document, a very remarkable document, indeed," said his lordship. "I see it was handed in at Lincoln. She won’t say who it is because she has quarrelled with him. With her husband, that is to say. She will not let Bob come back. She quarrelled with _him_ because he said he was married to _her_. Very remarkable! Somewhat confusing. But it is a relief to hear that the baby is not black, Bradstock." Bradstock was pessimistic. "It may be half-black," he said, mournfully. "Which half?" asked the bishop, with alarm. "If it is, I hope it will not be the top half." "Absurd!" said Bradstock. "I mean it may be dun or yellowish." "Let us trust not," replied the bishop. "I am inclined to think Bob would have said it was not very black if it had been at all coloured. I think we may dismiss the Jugpore legend." "I trust we may," said Bradstock. "I have an idea," said the bishop, "I have a luminous idea. Let us go to the library." They adjourned to the library, and Bradstock lighted a cigar. "What is your idea?" he asked. "I will tell you in a few minutes," said the bishop, as he laid a big atlas upon his table. Bradstock watched him curiously. The bishop opened the atlas and laid a flat ruler on it. He shifted it once or twice, nodded his head, said "Ah!" and nodded it again. "I believe I have it," said the bishop. "It will be worth trying, at any rate." "What is it?" asked Bradstock. "Come and look at the atlas," said the bishop, and Bradstock did as he was asked. The bishop put his finger-tips together and began: "Bob was following this person named Smith, and went north, did he not? Let us say north. I believe it is technically north by east. He put me out, or, to be fair even to Bob, I got out and was asked to return very casually, north of Spalding in the Boston road, miles from anywhere. This Smith was going back to Penelope. For while Bob and I were away, you got her telegram dated Spilsborough, sent to London and re-telegraphed to you here, saying that she was well, in reply to your _Times_ advertisement. Obviously, Penelope lives somewhere north of the spot where Bob left me without time for argument. Do you follow me?" "Certainly," said Bradstock. "It is all as clear as quaternions." "Now we get this very remarkable document from Lincoln." "We do, bishop." "It is obvious she doesn’t live at Lincoln. She has sent this very fast Smith there to send off Bob’s telegram. Is that not so?"