The inspector unlocked the handcuffs, saluted stiffly, turned his men round, and was marching off with them, when the burglar called out, "My cigars, please." The inspector came back, handed the box over, saluted even more stiffly than before, and retired. Sir John and the burglar watched the retreating escort out of sight. "It's been a narrow squeak for both of us to-night," said the burglar reflectively. "It has," replied Sir John. Then they turned the corner together. II. THE BISHOP OF BISTER'S CROZIER. THE Bishop of Bister's dinner hour was eight o'clock. With unfailing regularity, when at the palace, he entered the drawing-room at 7.58 in order to collect his family and any guests. His annoyance may therefore be understood when at 7.55 on the night in question a servant brought him a card on which was written: "Georgiowitch Kassala, Mush, L. Van, Khurd., craves audience." "The gentleman is in the examination room, my lord," the servant added. "A very awkward time for calling," said the Bishop, consulting his watch unnecessarily. Then, with a sigh, "Ask your mistress to keep dinner back ten minutes." His lordship ambled to the examination room. A big man in a loose blue cassock-like garb rose at his entrance--a big-limbed, red-bearded man, with enormous eyebrows. He rose, bowed low, and sank on his knees, caught hold of the prelate's hand, caressed it gently, and finally kissed it. The Bishop was embarrassed. He preferred that sort of thing to be done before an audience, when he would play his part with the best of them, but with no spectators at all he felt uncomfortable. "Rise," he said gently. The red-bearded man obeyed. "I am--" he began. "I have come--ah, perhaps I had better show you my papers. I have a letter from my Patriarch." This in excellent English, with just a trace of a foreign accent. From his capacious pocket he drew out a bundle of papers. He abstracted a letter therefrom, and handed it with evident pride to the Bishop. It was apparently Greek, yet it was not the language his lordship of Bister had learnt at school and college. Here and there he saw a word he almost knew, yet the next one to it was a perfect stranger. He glanced at the end. There was a big seal, an extraordinary date, an impossible name. His visitor seemed to appreciate the position. "Our Patriarch is old," he said. "He is no longer facile to read. I sometimes have difficulty myself, though I know his writing well. May I read it to you?" He did this with great fluency and emphasis; but the Bishop understood nothing, though occasionally he thought he caught the sound of a fleeting particle. The letter was finished. "And this," said the reader, producing a blue document, "is more earthy." It was, being from Scotland Yard, informing all and sundry that the bearer, Georgiowitch Kassala, a Christian priest, was authorised to collect subscriptions for the church of Saint Barnabas at Mush, in Khurdistan.