"He probably thought he would go for a long walk; the night was fine," Jefferson, who knew his habits, suggested. "Or for a row up the lake. The sort of thing Svensen _would_ do." "In that case he's drowned," said Grattan, who was of a forthright manner of speech. "He's a business-like fellow, Svensen. He'd have turned up in time for the show if he could, even after a night out." The next thing was to inquire of the boat-keepers, and messengers were despatched to do this. "I am afraid it looks rather serious," remarked a soft, grave, important voice behind Henry's back. "I am pretty intimate with Svensen; I was lunching with him only yesterday, as it happens. He didn't say a word then of any plan for a night expedition, I am afraid it looks sadly like an accident of some sort." "Perspicacious fellow," muttered Jefferson, who did not like Charles Wilbraham. Henry edged away: neither did he like Charles Wilbraham. He did not even turn his face towards him. He jostled into his friend the English clergyman, who said, "Ah, Mr. Beechtree. I want to introduce you to Dr. Franchi." He led Henry by the arm to the corner where the alert-looking ex-cardinal stood, talking with the Spaniard whom Henry had noticed in the lift at the Secretariat buildings. "Mr. Beechtree, Your Eminence," said the Reverend Cyril Waring, who chose by the use of this title to show at once his respect for the ex-cardinal, his contempt for the bigotry which had unfrocked him, and his disgust at the scandalous tongues which whispered that the reason for his unfrocking had been less heresy than the possession of a wife, or even wives. If Canon Waring had heard these spiteful _on-dits_, he paid no attention to them; he was a high-minded enthusiast, and knew a gentleman and a scholar when he saw one. "The correspondent of the _British Bolshevist_," he added, "and a co-religionist of Your Eminence's." The ex-cardinal gave Henry his delicate hand, and a shrewd and agreeable smile. "I am glad to meet you, Mr. Beechtree. You must come and see me one day, if you will, at my lake villa. It is a pleasant expedition, and a beautiful spot." He spoke excellent English with a slight accent. A thousand pities, thought Henry, that such a delightful person should be a heretic--such a heretic as to have been unfrocked. Why, indeed, should any one be a heretic? Atheism was natural enough, but heresy seemed strange. For, surely, if one could believe anything, one could believe everything. For his part, he believed everything.... Nevertheless, he accepted the invitation with pleasure. It would be a trip, and Henry loved trips, particularly up lakes. Dr. Franchi, observing the young journalist with approbation, liking his sensitive and polite face, saw it grow suddenly sullen, even spiteful, at the sound of a voice raised in conversation not far from him. "Perhaps you will do me the honour of lunching with me, M. Kratzky. I have a little party coming, including Suliman Bey...."