"Oh, give him a little time!" said France sharply, "give him a little time." Then, with a change of tone--"The anonymous letters, of course, are the really interesting things in the case. Perhaps you have a theory about them?" The Professor shrugged his shoulders. "None whatever. I have seen three--including that published in the _Post_. I understand about twenty have now been traced; and that they grow increasingly dramatic and detailed. Evidently some clever fellow--who knows a great deal--with a grudge against Meynell?" "Ye--es," said France, with hesitation. "You suspect somebody?" "Not at all. It is a black business." Then with one large and powerful hand, France restrained the kitten, who was for deserting his knee, and with the other he drew toward him the folio volume on which he had been engaged when the Professor came in. Vetch took the hint, said a rather frosty good-bye, and departed. "A popinjay!" said France to himself when he was left alone, thinking with annoyance of the Professor's curly hair, of his elegant serge suit, and the gem from Knossos that he wore on the little finger of his left hand. Then he took up a large pipe which lay beside his books, filled it, and hung meditatively over the fire. He was angry with Vetch, and disgusted with himself. "Why haven't I given Meynell a helping hand? Why did I talk like that to Barron when he first began this business? And why have I let him come here as he has done since--without telling him what I really thought of him?" He fell for some minutes into an abyss of thought; thought which seemed to range not so much over the circumstances connected with Meynell as over the whole of his own past. But he emerged from it with a long shake of the head. "My habits are my habits!" he said to himself with a kind of bitter decision, and laying down his pipe he went back to his papers. * * * * * Almost at the same moment the Bishop was interviewing Henry Barron in the little book-lined room beyond the main library, which he kept for the business he most disliked. He never put the distinction into words, but when any member of his clergy was invited to step into the farther room, the person so invited felt depressed. Barron's substantial presence seemed to fill the little study, as, very much on his defence, he sat _tete-a-tete_ with the Bishop. He had recognized from the beginning that nothing of what he had done was really welcome or acceptable to Bishop Craye. While he, on his side, felt himself a benefactor to the Church in general, and to the Bishop of Markborough in particular, instinctively he knew that the Bishop's taste ungratefully disapproved of him; and the knowledge contributed an extra shade of pomposity to his manner. He had just given a sketch of the church meeting at Upcote, and of the situation in the village up to date. The Bishop sat absently patting his thin knees, and evidently very much concerned.