'And there is no bee without a sting, and no rose without a thorn. I know all those consoling proverbs, Mr Cargrim, but they don't apply to my turtle-doves.' Cargrim rubbed his hands softly together. 'Long may you continue to think so, my dear lady,' said he, with a sad look. 'What do you mean, sir?' asked Miss Whichello, sharply. 'I mean that it is as well to be prepared for the worst,' said Cargrim, in his blandest manner. 'The course of true love--but you are weary of such trite sayings. Good-day, Miss Whichello!' He raised his hat and turned away. 'One last proverb--Joy in the morning means grief at night.' When Mr Cargrim walked away briskly after delivering this Parthian shaft, Miss Whichello stood looking after him with an expression of nervous worry on her rosy face. She had her own reasons to apprehend trouble in connection with the engagement, and although these were unknown to the chaplain, his chance arrow had hit the mark. The thoughts of the little old lady at once reverted to the conversation with the bishop at the garden-party. 'Mrs Pansey again,' thought Miss Whichello, resuming her walk at a slower pace. 'I shall have to call on her, and appeal either to her fears or her charity, otherwise she may cause trouble.' In the meantime, Mr Baltic, proceeding in his grave way towards Eastgate, had fallen in with Gabriel coming from The Derby Winner. As yet the two had never met, and save the name, young Pendle knew nothing about the ex-sailor. Nevertheless, when face to face with him, he recognised the man at once as a private inquiry agent whom he had once spoken to in Whitechapel. The knowledge of his father's secret, of Jentham's murder and of this stranger's profession mingled confusedly in Gabriel's head, and his heart knocked at his ribs for very fear. 'I met you in London some years ago,' he said nervously. 'Yes, Mr Pendle; but then I did not know your name, nor did you know mine.' 'How did you recognise me?' asked Gabriel. 'I have a good memory for faces, sir,' returned Baltic, 'but, as a matter of fact, Sir Harry Brace pointed you out to me.' 'Sir Har--oh, then you are Baltic!' 'At your service, Mr Pendle. I am down here on business.' 'I know all about it,' replied Gabriel, recovering his nerve with the knowledge of the man's name and inclination to side with the bishop. 'Indeed, sir! And who told you about it?' 'Sir Harry told Dr Graham, who informed my father, who spoke to me.' 'Oh!' Baltic looked seriously at the curate's pale face. 'Then the bishop knows that I am an inquiry agent.' 'He does, Mr Baltic. And, to tell you the truth, he is not at all pleased that you presented yourself in our city as a missionary.' 'I am a missionary,' answered the ex-sailor, quietly. 'I explained as much to Sir Harry, but it would seem that he has told the worst and kept back the best.' 'I don't understand,' said the curate, much bewildered.