"I might have been very angry with you," van Heerden went on, with that insolent drawl of his; "happily I do not find it any longer necessary to marry Miss Cresswell. I was just explaining to this gentleman"--he pointed to the pallid young curate in the background--"when your voices reached me. Nevertheless, I think it only right to tell you that your marriage is not a legal one, though I presume you are provided with a special licence." "Why is it illegal?" asked Beale. He wondered if Parson Homo had been recognized. "In the first place because it was not conducted in the presence of witnesses," said van Heerden. It was Homo who laughed. "I am afraid that would make it illegal but for the fact that you witnessed the ceremony by your own confession, and so presumably did your fat friend behind you." Mr. Milsom scowled. "You were always a bitter dog to me, Parson," he said, "but I can give you a reason why it's illegal," he said triumphantly. "That man is Parson Homo, a well-known crook who was kicked out of the Church fifteen years ago. I worked alongside him in Portland." Homo smiled crookedly. "You are right up to a certain point, Milsom," he said, "but you are wrong in one essential. By a curious oversight I was never unfrocked, and I am still legally a priest of the Church of England." "Heavens!" gasped Beale, "then this marriage is legal!" "It's as legal as it can possibly be," said Parson Homo complacently. CHAPTER XXI BEALE SEES WHITE "In a sense," said Lawyer Kitson, "it is a tragedy. In a sense it is a comedy. The most fatal comedy of errors that could be imagined." Stanford Beale sat on a low chair, his head in his hands, the picture of dejection. "I don't mind your kicks," he said, without looking up; "you can't say anything worse about me than I am saying about myself. Oh, I've been a fool, an arrogant mad fool." Kitson, his hands clasped behind his back under his tail coat, his gold-rimmed pince-nez perched on his nose, looked down at the young man. "I am not going to tell you that I was against the idea from the beginning, because that is unnecessary. I ought to have put my foot down and stopped it. I heard you were pretty clever with a gun, Stanford. Why didn't you sail in and rescue the girl as soon as you found where she was?" "I don't think there would have been a ghost of a chance," said the other, looking up. "I am not finding excuses, but I am telling you what I know. There were four or five men in the house and they were all pretty tough citizens--I doubt if I would have made it that way." "You think he would have married her?" "He admitted as much," said Stanford Beale, "the parson was already there when I butted in." "What steps are you taking to deal with this man van Heerden?" Beale laughed helplessly. "I cannot take any until Miss Cresswell recovers." "Mrs. Beale," murmured Kitson, and the other went red.