"How remarkable," said the bishop, smiling. "But I am not surprised. Indeed, in this last case I am almost gratified, though I withhold my reasons for saying so. Are you then acquainted with any one called De Vere? No; or with a Mrs. Carteret Williams?" Light dawned in the driver’s face at last. "Mrs. Williams! Ay, sure enif. She do sell sweets and tobacco." "Indeed," said the bishop, "indeed, how remarkable! But I don’t think she will do. Have you heard of a Mrs. Rivaulx or a Mrs. Goby? Perhaps I surprise you in this part of Lincolnshire, but in London it is not at all uncommon for married ladies to have several names, not at all uncommon." "No, sir, I never heard o’ none of ’em," returned the driver, thinking that this gentleman talked most remarkable "cat-blash." "Good heavens!" said the bishop, "this new custom is trying. Do you then know a Mrs. Carew or Mrs. Bramber?" Again the man scratched his head and shook it. What did this strange person in gaiters mean? "Oh! ah!" he said at last. "There be a Mrs. Bramwell at the Moat House." "Indeed," said the bishop. "Perhaps that may be the lady. At the Moat House! Do you know Mr. Bramwell?" "I’ve seen un," said the driver. "What is he like?" asked the bishop. "Is he fair or dark, or tall or short?" "He’s fairish to dark and betwixt and between," said the driver, wishing to be accurate, "and mostly goes in big spectacles in his engine." "Ha!" said the bishop, "we are on the scent! And what is Mrs. Bramwell like?" "She do mostly go in the engine with specs on, too, sir. But my wife do say she be a very fine woman." The bishop nodded. "I think you may drive us to the Moat House," he said. "I will bring my friends out." He rubbed his hands and congratulated himself on the skill with which he had discovered the object of his search. "I really believe I have found her," he said, when he entered the waiting-room. "I really believe it." "No!" said the duchess. "Yes," said the bishop. "By a series of skilful questions and the exercise of a little pardonable deceit, I have learnt that there is a Mrs. Bramwell here, who is said to be a very fine woman, and goes out in goggles in a motor-car with her husband, who is fairish to dark and tall and short and also wears goggles." Augustin nodded. "This looks like—something," he said, hopefully. "Bramwell! Perhaps really Bramber, Titania." "No, no," said Titania. "I expect disaster. I anticipate the Jew or Williams." "But Bramwell—the first syllable being Bram," suggested the bishop. "I cannot build on Bram," said the duchess. "We are an unfortunate family. Lord Bramber may be an earl at any minute, and she has married a coal-heaver, of course! Let us go at once." When they got into the carriage, the bishop told the man to drive to the Moat House. "Did you say Moat House?" asked the duchess. "I did," replied the bishop.