"Well," said the priest sharply, with his bright gray eyes, puckered at the corners, running over and taking in the whole of Frank's figure from close-cut hair to earthy boots. "Brother James tells me you wish to see me." "It was Brother James who said so, father," said Frank. "What is it you want?" "I've got two friends on the road who want shelter--man and woman. We'll pay, if necessary, but--" "Never mind about that," interrupted the priest sharply. "Who are you?" "The name I go by is Frank Gregory." "The name you go by, eh?... Where were you educated?" "Eton and Cambridge." "How do you come to be on the roads?" "That's a long story, father." "Did you do anything you shouldn't?" "No. But I've been in prison since." "And your name's Frank Gregory.... F.G., eh?" Frank turned as if to leave. He understood that he was known. "Well--good-night, father--" The priest turned with upraised hand. "Brother James, just step outside." Then he continued as the door closed. "You needn't go, Mr.--er--Gregory. Your name shall not be mentioned to a living being without your leave." "You know about me?" "Of course I do.... Now be sensible, my dear fellow; go and fetch your friends. We'll manage somehow." (He raised his voice and rapped on the table.) "Brother James ... go up with Mr. Gregory to the porter's lodge. Make arrangements to put the woman up somewhere, either there or in a gardener's cottage. Then bring the man down here.... His name?" "Trustcott," said Frank. "And when you come back, I shall be waiting for you here." (III) Frank states in his diary that an extraordinary sense of familiarity descended on him as, half an hour later, the door of a cell closed behind Dom Hildebrand Maple, and he found himself in a room with a bright fire burning, a suit of clothes waiting for him, a can of hot water, a sponging tin and a small iron bed.